Carry Me Anew
by balmorhea
Summary: Truth be told, I really didn't care for the mess that was my new-found freedom. All I wanted was for Harry not to think I was off my rocker. SQ to Find My Way Back Home
1. Freedom

Author's note: This is the Sequel to Find My Way Back Home; please take a look there before continuing on with this story.

Chapter one:

Freedom, it turns out, was a lot harder to get used to than I had anticipated.

The first month was a bit of a blur. I spent several days hiding in the safety of Remus's house, not wanting to be the subject of stares or questions. At least a hundred owls flew by each day, dropping off requests for interviews, Howlers, and letters ranging from a congratulations to a call for "anarchy against a tyrannical Ministry that imprisoned innocent people." The owl droppings got to be so bad on the first day that Remus had to put a barrier charm around the perimeter of his property, although this did nothing to stop the growing piles of letters at the foot of his drive.

I'm not really sure in what exact order things happened; Remus took care of making sure all my affairs were tended to. I think he was determined to make me feel normal as quickly as possible. I bought a house in the north, several kilometers from the nearest fruit stand, and filled it with furniture. That was the hard part, shopping for my new house. Remus and I traveled to Diagon Alley, and while I was content to purchase the first things the shopkeeper showed us, Remus was determined that I actually bought what I liked.

Thing is, I had no idea what that might be. Azkaban didn't exactly allow an opportunity for interior decorating. After ten years of sleeping on a cot in a tiny cell, a bed was a bed and a table was an improvement. Knowing that I wouldn't get around to putting anything together myself until I was at least fifty, Remus helped me organize my new household. Beds were set up in the two guest rooms, dishes stored in the new cabinets in the kitchen, and sofas carefully arranged in the other rooms.

I should have bought a one-room shack instead of a house, I realized later. Less space meant less furniture and fewer decisions about what to do with it.

The rest of the house I didn't pay much attention to; I trusted Remus enough to know he wouldn't arrange a pink parlor set in my sitting room. It was the guest rooms that made me wonder what on earth I should be doing, because they were either simply guest rooms, or they were a guest room and Harry's future room.

I was promised I would be able to meet with Harry after Christmas; Dumbledore said Harry had agreed to meet with me, but supposedly there was so much going on at the school before the Christmas break. He didn't say as much, but from what I gathered about a troll break-in and the mysterious attempted robbery at Gringott's, Dumbledore was too preoccupied with something secret to pay me much mind.

I guess I didn't care. Besides, it would probably be better for me to get my shit together before Harry met me and went running for the hills.

Following the house and all its various objects came the matter of my other house: the hated property of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. I had absolutely no desire to step foot there, but I was sure it was too heavily booby-trapped to sell. No doubt my father grew more paranoid and my mother more insane after I ran away. Not to mention it had sat empty for years following the death of my mother; I could only imagine what grew in the darkness there.

Remus made the daunting trek with me; he had never been to this house, but he sure heard a lot about it when we were in school.

The door creaked open heavily, and we were hit with the obvious smell of dust and mildew. I spat out a mouthful of dusty cobweb that had blown into my face, and led the way in. In retrospect I probably should have waited until I had a wand to pay a visit. Remus flicked his wand, and the old lamps slowly lit up around us.

The dust was at least half an inch thick—no one had lived here in over six years. Cobwebs hung from every available surface, and I was pretty sure I could hear something scuttling away from us. There was a low buzz coming from the curtains as we moved down the hallway, and I was sure this house wasn't as empty as I had anticipated. No doubt something evil grew in all the Dark Magic in this house. We turned a corner toward the library, and I jumped back a foot into Remus, letting out a few choice words of surprise.

Remus and I backed up several paces, Remus pointing his wand threateningly at the massive black shape that had suddenly descended from the ceiling in front of us.

"What the fuck is that?" I said, not sure I wanted an answer so much as a weapon. My voice echoed through the silent house.

The shape suddenly spouted eight legs and took off running, footsteps thudding against the floor, and disappeared into the shadows.

"Right, well, I don't know about you," I said, forcing my voice to remain casual. "But I think I've seen enough of this house."

"Agreed."

By the time we got back to Remus' house, I still had no idea what I was going to do with Grimmauld Place other than never go there again, but I was pretty fine with this decision.

Hagrid had returned my beloved motorbike to me shortly after the conclusion of the trial, along with a tin of rock-hard biscuits and an enormous bottle of firewhiskey. I think this was his version of a peace offering, and while I accepted it readily, I did have to throw out the biscuits after chipping a tooth.

Other people offered gifts, too: casseroles, baked goods, money, certificates to free stuff from shops I had never heard of, designer robes, and even a lifetime supply of butterbeer. I was rather keen on that last one, but everything else was overwhelming. Remus's house quickly filled up with all the home-cooked meals that were brought from people who had helped me during the trial, and we quickly found that we couldn't get through one dish without four more showing up. When Molly Weasley sent her fifth or sixth casserole, Remus politely suggested that I could use some winter clothes as I still hadn't bothered to go shopping for a wardrobe. Within the week, their ancient owl delivered two hand-knit jumpers and a wool cap with a note promising socks and at least a dozen blankets before the month was out.

Once I had settled into my house I was ready to put off everything else, but Remus refused to let me. Once again he dragged me into Diagon Alley, this time for some random errands. He made sure I had my own fully-stocked apothecary to brew basic home remedies, a pot of Floo powder, a heap of parchment and quills, and finally—a wand.

I wouldn't dare admit this out loud, but I'm sure Remus guessed anyway—a part of me was afraid that my magic had been sucked out of me by the Dementors. That's why I had put off shopping for a wand for as long as possible. But sure enough, two weeks into my newfound freedom, Remus literally dragged me to Ollivander's wand shop on a chilly Tuesday morning.

I had grown to expect awkward pauses and surprised stares whenever I was in sight of somebody, but Ollivander didn't seem the least bit fazed to see me. He remembered the components of my previous wand, and rummaged around his shop looking for similar makes, none of which seemed to do much of anything.

"No matter, no matter!" said Ollivander brightly. He seemed to like the challenge, and what a challenge it would be to find a wand that would respond to a magic-less wizard. I had to swallow my fear, thinking of the simplest spells I knew.

"Try conjuring up some lunch," suggested Remus, leaning comfortably against the desk and unwrapping a muffin he had saved from breakfast. "We should grab a bite to eat after this." He didn't seem the least bit concerned that I may have been transformed into a Squib of sorts.

"Try," said Ollivander, coming down from an enormous ladder. "This one. Oak and Manticore hair, fourteen inches." He handed me the wand, and I took it dubiously. Unlike the previous wands, which were barely responsive, this wand blew out the shop's back windows and knocked over a shelf full of wands.

"Nope! Definitely _not_," said Ollivander, taking the wand from me. Ignoring the mess, he disappeared to the far side of his shop to continue the search.

I turned to look at Remus, who shrugged. "When I got my first wand, it took almost an hour," he said. "Besides, you're trying to replace your first one, and that's not exactly easy."

"Yeah, I s'pose so," I said, looking around the shop darkly. I never thought such a small object could make me feel so stupid.

"Right," said Ollivander, returning to the front desk. He had an old, worn box in his hands. "Desert Ironwood, all the way from North America; such a hardy wood, I don't use it often. Thirteen inches with phoenix tail feather. Give it a go!"

I took the wand, clearing my throat. "Er…_accio muffin_!"

Like that, the half-eaten muffin shot out of Remus' hand and landed neatly into mine.

"Come on, I was eating that!"

I was a little surprised. Ollivander was ecstatic. Remus, who was sure I'd be able to find a wand this whole time, took his muffin back and clapped me on the shoulder.

Olivander wrote up my receipt while I examined my new wand. It was a little sturdier than my previous one, and the dark, marbleized wood was cool to the touch.

"How does it feel?" Ollivander asked, handing me my receipt. "Like meeting an old friend again, right?"

"Yeah," I said, twirling it between my fingers.

Ollivander gave me a satisfied smile. "I trust it will treat you well. Until next time," he said, bidding us farewell.

I pocketed my new wand as Remus and I exited the shop. The village was starting to wake up, and the lanes were more crowded now.

"Lunch?" Remus suggested. "We can head over to the Leaky Cauldron."

I was torn between the prospect of their infamous scotch eggs and the knowledge that we would be stared at the whole time. But I knew the only way to stop being a novelty was to become a boring, accustomed sight. What good was my freedom if I hid forever?

"Yeah, sounds good," I said, leading the way.

The old barman was ecstatic to see us, and even gave us my old favorite spot in the corner. When he returned with a butterbeer each, he asked, "You boys seen the papers yet?"

"No, I try to avoid reading them," I answered truthfully. "Rita Skeeter publishes addendums to my biography every day."

"You'll want to see this one," he said. He retreated to the bar and returned with a tea-stained_ Daily Prophet. _"Front page."

I opened up the paper, and turned it sideways to Remus could see. There, emblazoned on the front page, was a picture of the holding cells in the Ministry of Magic and the bold headline.

_**PETER PETTIGREW ESCAPES MINISTRY CUSTODY.**_

I felt an electric shock shoot through me.

_ Peter Pettigrew, who has been in Ministry Custody the last three weeks pending an investigation  
into the murders of James and Lily Potter and a dozen innocent Muggles, was found missing from  
his holding cell shortly before midnight last night when an Auror came across the empty cell during  
a scheduled check._

_ According to officials, there was no evidence of outside help. _

"_He was just gone," said Devin Cumberland, the Auror who first discovered Pettigrew's escape.  
"There was no sign of a break-out. The door was still locked when I came 'round at midnight."_

Remus and I stared at each other.

"There's no leads," the barman supplied. "It's just like he vanished into thin air. The papers said he was an Animagus, right?"

"The Ministry would have taken that into account," I said slowly, my eyes quickly skimming over the rest of the article.

"Harry's safe," said Remus, reading my mind. "Peter can't touch him at Hogwarts."

I couldn't think of a reply. The day after my trial ended, I met with Dumbledore to discuss seeing Harry. He promised to ask Harry if he had an interest in meeting me, and said he would keep me up to date on Harry's well-being. It was the best he could do, he said. The idea of remaining a complete stranger to Harry was maddening under pleasant circumstances, but this changed everything. How was I supposed to protect Harry when his parents' killer was on the loose and the boy didn't even know me?

Tom left to get our food, leaving Remus and I to stare darkly at the paper. I looked around the half-full pub; everyone was discussing the news, shooting furtive glances my way. I glanced at Remus, and saw he was watching me, too.

"How am I supposed to just sit and wait it out?" I asked, already knowing the advice Remus was going to give me.

"By focusing on the things you can control," Remus replied without missing a beat. "Do you know how hard it was for me not to claw my way through the Ministry for information after you were arrested? The Aurors will deal with Peter, not you—they know what he is, now."

I scoffed. "Yeah, except they still haven't charged him with anything," I replied darkly.

"Well, escaping doesn't look good for his case," Remus said firmly. "When are you supposed to hear back about Harry?" he asked, steering the conversation away from Peter.

I shrugged. "I don't know. Dumbledore said he'd talk to him this week." I hesitated. "What if he hates me?"

Remus choked on his butterbeer at that. "Are you thick? What kind of question is that?"

"Come on, Remus, I bet he heard all about it. I was the one that made Lily and James switch. Maybe he'll blame me for it."

"Now why would he do that?"

Remus and I locked eyes for a long, knowing moment.

Because I blamed myself for it.

"If Harry is anything like his dad, his curiosity about you will be killing him," said Remus finally. "And then you can have the chance to show him this whole other life—he grew up with Muggles. You can teach him about his family, help him with his magic—he has this whole other identity he doesn't even know about yet, and you're his link to that."

I knew Remus was right. I drained the rest of my butterbeer and looked out the foggy window.

"Remember the people Harry came from," Remus added when our food was brought to our table. "And give yourself a little credit. You'll be fine."

* * *

Remus would kill me if he knew I had taken up smoking again. Sure, he had bought me cigarettes during the nightmare that was my trial, but he also said it was the one and only time smoking was ever warranted.

I often bought Muggle Mayfairs from the nearby grocer, but on the rare instance I dragged myself into Diagon Alley I was able to get the good Brightleaf variety. But since I tended to wander around Muggle London most days, and the Brightleaf gave off an obvious blue tinge to the smoke, I usually stuck to the Mayfairs.

I had taken to using a lot of Muggle things lately.

Like my house, for example. I had a functioning electrical system and even a washer and dryer in the laundry. I had to enlist Remus' help to disable parts of the electricity so it wouldn't interfere with magic, although I would miss the central heating system. After being shocked once or twice, I spent the remainder of my afternoon trying to charm the old washer and dryer into working.

"Why not just get a wizarding set from Diagon Alley?" Remus asked, frowning at me from the doorway.

A jet of water suddenly shot out of the tap, spraying well water everywhere.

"Because it came with the house," was my excuse once we got the flood under control. "And having something to do keeps me from going insane."

I could tell he wanted to, but Remus didn't argue the point further.

"Dumbledore wrote me this morning," I continued. "Said I can come to the school on Saturday."

Remus grinned at me. "Yeah?"

"What the hell do I talk about?" I asked, rubbing a hand on the back of my neck.

Remus shrugged. "Whatever. He's eleven. Tell him about his parents."

"Yeah," I said, running a hand over my chin. "But what if he asks about…you know, the night they died."

Remus sat up straighter. He thought for a minute, then asked, "Well, is anything off-limits? What you're willing to tell him?"

"I guess not," I said slowly. "I just don't want him to hate me right away, you know? I don't want to fuck this up."

Remus gave the wrench one last tug and looking over his handiwork, said, "Try turning the water back on."

I reached for the valve next to me.

"Looks good to me," said Remus confidently. "I don't know how Harry's going to react, exactly, but just be whatever he needs you to be. Let him decide."

I tapped the top of the dryer next to me. "Ready for this one?"

Remus stayed for dinner that night. As soon as he discovered ninety-percent of my new dishes and cookware hadn't been unpacked, he made me tend to the food while he put everything neatly in its place.

"I just don't understand why I need so much," I argued, watching Remus kick a pile of wrapping paper and cardboard to the side.

"Because one day, Sirius, it's going to be just more than you in this house."

"You sound like your mum."

"If she were here, she'd smack you for eating nothing but cereal." He opened up a large cabinet, and turned to me with raised eyebrows. "You have an entire stock of firewhiskey just sitting in here?"

I shrugged. "Lifetime supply."

Remus pulled out a bottle and grabbed two glasses before joining me at the kitchen table.

"You heard from Ms. Novak lately?" Remus asked.

I thought about it. "Not since the day after the trial. She said she had a load of paperwork for me to sign off on—you know, about my retribution money and so on. But knowing her, I'm sure she's making a huge pile all at once—"

"—and she's already completed most of it herself," Remus supplied.

"Maybe I should owl her and find out what's up," I thought out loud.

"Nah, she'll contact you when she's ready," said Remus. He took a sip of the dark liquid.

We never did fix that dryer.


	2. A Long-Awaited Meeting

Chapter two:

Since August, my life has been a series of amazing revelations. Finding out I'm a wizard, going to Hogwarts, making friends who didn't think I was weird. I felt like I had received a completely new life.

Hogwarts was amazing. I never imagined a place like this could exist. I was on the Quidditch team, great friends with Ron Weasley, and pretty good at my classes. I had even recently become friends with Hermione Granger after saving her from the troll in the girls' bathroom. So while I had grown used to surprises, nothing could prepare me for the meeting I had with Dumbledore after class in early November.

I had seen the papers, of course. We all did. Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer brought out of Azkaban to stand trial and found innocent. I knew nothing about the circumstances in the beginning, but shortly after starting school, Dumbledore pulled me aside and told me a little bit more about my parents' deaths. I knew they had been murdered; Hagrid told me as much when he rescued me from the rock with the Dursleys over the summer. But he never told me that it was because their best friend betrayed them. Dumbledore told me that. But then he also told me he was sure the man accused of it was innocent.

I didn't know what to believe at first. Dumbledore assured me this Sirius Black was innocent and loved my parents very much, but a lot of people around me seemed to think the opposite. It was weird reading through the paper every morning with Ron and the others. I had told Ron everything Dumbledore mentioned, of course. We would whisper to each other our wild ideas about what kind of person Black was. I supposed if Dumbledore believed this Sirius Black was innocent, then he must be right. Everyone seemed to trust Dumbledore.

If I wasn't a big enough celebrity being the Boy-Who-Lived, I certainly got a lot more attention from this trial. I had nothing to do with it, but since Black was being accused of killing my parents, everyone in the halls would stare at me. Even the professors would give me strange looks from time to time.

So when I heard that Black had been declared innocent, I guess I felt happy for him. Dumbledore was sure Black was innocent, and Ron said his Dad even gave evidence at the trial. Ron and his brothers had turned into celebrities too, because their pet rat turned out to be a wizard. So I was happy for Black, and didn't really think of it any further than that.

Until the second weekend in November, when Dumbledore said he would like to meet with me in his office. This seemed to become a regular thing, and I was quickly becoming acquainted with the peculiar Headmaster. I wasn't sure what Dumbledore wanted to tell me, but I went anyway, hovering stupidly around the gargoyle entrance until I could remember the password had been written in Dumbledore's note.

As it turns out, Black was more than my parents' friend; he was my godfather.

And he wanted to see me.

"I understand if you are reluctant," Dumbledore assured me. "given the circumstances. But I assure you Sirius is a good man."

I couldn't really think of a reason why not, so I said yes. Besides, I was curious to meet him. If he was my godfather, then that meant I had family outside of the Dursleys.

I'm not sure what I expected Black to be like; I had seen all the photos in the papers, so I knew what he'd look like, but for some reason I expected his personality to be more aggressive. Someone who had survived Azkaban for ten years and fought against Voldemort should be kind of intimidating, I thought. But Black was quiet and polite. I could tell he was really nervous. I don't know why he would be, really.

We met the weekend after that, about a month and a half after I had learned of my relationship to Black. Dumbledore invited him to the school, and let us use one of the empty classrooms on the third floor for privacy. Dumbledore waited around long enough to introduce us, but then excused himself, leaving me and Black alone together. Black was tall, a lot taller than I had expected. He was also really thin, but I guessed that was because of his time in prison. He smiled nervously at me, suggesting we should sit. He conjured up a pot of tea, which I thought was pretty impressive.

"I don't know how much you know about me," he began hesitantly, pouring us both a cup.

I shrugged. "Er, honestly, just what's been in the papers. I didn't know you existed until then. But then, I didn't know I was a wizard until about that time, too."

Black looked at me quizzically, surprised. He leaned back in his chair, frowning.

"My aunt and uncle don't like magic," I said by way of explanation, shrugging. "They're—"

"Muggles, I know," said Black, nodding. He must have seen the confusion in my face, because then he said, "I met Petunia once, a long time ago. Never met her husband, though."

I snorted. "Lucky you," I said darkly, tracing the pattern on my tea cup.

I looked at him and saw that Black was frowning at me again. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Er, just that he's…kind of unpleasant," I said, trying to think of a good description. "He doesn't like, beat me or anything," I added hurriedly, seeing where this conversation was going. "He just doesn't really care about me. None of them do. The Dursleys, that is. They don't exactly want me there."

"Then why did they take you in?" Black's face was guarded, cautious, but there was a strange look in his eyes, like he could see into my soul. It was unnerving.

I shrugged again. "Beats me. As far as I knew, they were my only family left." Except for you, I guess, but I didn't say it. "Mostly they just tolerate me, and I tolerate them. They hoped they could repress the magic out of me or something."

Black snorted at that, which surprised me.

"With the type of wizards your parents were? Right."

I scooted a little closer to the edge of my seat, feeling excitement course through me. I had never met anyone who knew my parents in detail. Other than Aunt Petunia, I guess, but she never liked to admit that she even had a sister. "So I, er, hear you were good friends with my parents."

Black gave me a knowing look, obviously aware I had gotten my information from the papers. "Yes, I was. Your dad and I were best friends; we met on the train in our first year. It was the four of us: your dad, me, Remus...and Peter."

I held my breath when he said Peter's name, but if thinking about him bothered Black at all, he didn't show it. "We met Lily then too, of course, but we, er, didn't get along right away."

"Really?" I said, surprised. "Why?"

"Because your mum had a knack for rules, and your dad and I didn't," said Black, the faintest trace of a smile. "But she started to warm up to us in fifth year. Started dating your dad in seventh."

"What were they like?" I asked, excited for any bit of information Black could give me.

Black smiled. I noticed he had started to relax. His shoulders weren't so stiff. "Your dad was the best friend I ever had—you look exactly like him, you know," he added. This sent a thrill of excitement through me. "Just like him. Except the eyes. They're your mother's.

"Anyway," he said quickly, like he thought he was getting sentimental. I didn't mind it; I was elated to hear about any resemblances I had to my parents. "Your dad and I met on the train and we were instant friends. Both sorted into Gryffindor, along with Remus and Peter. Lily, too. James played Quidditch for his House—"

"I play Quidditch, too," I interrupted.

Black looked surprised at that. "Really? First year and you're on the team?"

"Yeah," I said. "I play Seeker."

"Your dad was a Chaser, and an excellent one at that."

"Did you play?" I asked.

Black laughed at some distant memory. "For about six months, in fourth year," he said. "They needed another Chaser, and James forced me to try out. I was hit by a Bludger so hard I woke up four days later in the hospital wing with a concussion and a dozen broken bones. My Quidditch career was rather short-lived as far as I was concerned."

I was alarmed that someone could sustain that kind of injury from a game of Quidditch, and was now glad that my role as a Seeker meant minimal involvement with the Bludgers.

"Your dad made Quidditch captain in sixth year," Black continued. "He was one of the most popular students in the school. He was talented, smart, and kind of an idiot." Black chuckled. "Although so was I," he allowed. "He had always been in love with your mother, but she thought he was ridiculous. He spent his time either trying to impress her or causing trouble with me. We used to sneak out after hours, exploring the school and the grounds. We found about seven different hidden passageways out of the school, too, all by our second year. We spent a lot of time in detention together as well. But he got himself together a little bit in sixth year. He was made Head Boy in seventh."

I was stunned by this revelation. My whole life, I had always managed what my parents were like, and here was someone who had known them for years, sitting right across from me. "What was my mum like?" I asked.

Black gave a small smile as he thought for a moment. "Brilliant witch; I'd say the brightest in our year. She was especially good at Charms. A lot of people were in love with her; maybe that's why James spent so much time hexing students in the halls," he added as an afterthought, smirking. "She was Prefect and Head Girl, of course. Everyone knew she would be; she loved school and rules."

I couldn't help but smile at that. "That sounds like my friend Hermione," I told Black.

"Then you made a good choice in your friends," he replied. "Your mother was a favorite of a lot of the professors, but she relaxed on the school rules a bit after a few years. She absolutely loved you," he added. "When you were born, neither of your parents could take their eyes off you."

I didn't know how to respond to this. But it was nice to hear.

"They named you Harry after James's father, and of course your middle name is obvious." He shot me a smirk. "I wanted to name you Winfred."

I couldn't help but laugh at that. "Well, I'm glad they didn't listen to you."

"Winfred Vivion was a huge influence in early wizarding politics. Of course," Black added. "he did have a knack for hiding dragons and gambling." He smiled at the memory. "But your parents were keen on having Harry James, so I made them promise me I got to name their second child." His smile faltered at that. It was like curtain had suddenly closed behind his eyes. He cleared his throat awkwardly, then said, "Tell me about you."

I shrugged, uncomfortable about being put on the spot. What was there to say about me? I was extremely ordinary. "Uh, there isn't much to say," I replied truthfully. "Er, I play Quidditch. I'm in Gryffindor." I shrugged again. "That's really all I have."

Black raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Come on, I know there's more to it than that. What's your favorite class?"

I wracked my brain. They were all interesting in their own right. Well…not Potions or History of Magic so much. "Uh, Defense Against the Dark Arts is pretty cool," I finally decided. "The professor, Quirrell, is kind of weird, though."

"And your least?"

"Potions," I said without hesitation.

Black smirked. "I liked Potions in school. What's so bad about it?"

"Professor Snape," I admitted.

Black froze, a look of incredulity on his face. "_Severus _Snape?"

"Er, yeah," I said, confused. "D'you know him?"

Black looked like he was debating between a few different reactions. Finally he settled on complete shock. "_Why _would Dumbledore hire him? I went to school with that greasy git—"

I grinned at that.

"—and he was up to his eyeballs in the Dark Arts." He shook his head and fell into silence, a look of incomprehension on his face. Finally, he shook it off and said, "Well, I guess Potions suits him. Hovering around in the dungeons like an overgrown bat."

I laughed at that, but quickly tried to stifle it. It somehow didn't seem polite, even if I thought it was funny. Ron would get a kick out of it. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure Snape hates me," I said. "I don't know why, I've never said a word to him before."

"It's because when we were all in school, Snape was jealous of your dad," Black said, waving a hand dismissively. "Your dad was popular, Quidditch Captain—all these things that Snape wanted to be but wasn't. I just can't believe he's taking it out on you."

A strange silence fell between us. Before either of us could speak, a knock came at the door. It opened hesitantly, and red hair appeared in the doorway. Ron froze when he saw us. "Er, sorry," he said, taking a step back out. "McGonagall said you'd be in here—er, Harry, Wood's looking for you. Something about Quidditch practice changing."

Black and I turned to look at each other.

"Well," I said awkwardly. "Er, it was nice to meet you."

Black smiled at me. His face was neutral, but there was something about the look in his eyes that made me want to say something else. I just didn't know what.

"I guess I should go," I finally settled on awkwardly. "I've got practice."

Black nodded in understanding, standing up. "Okay. Well…I'm glad I got to meet you, Harry."

I nodded awkwardly. "Yeah. Me too."

Black gestured that I should lead the way, and we walked through the school in silence. Because it was Saturday, the halls were mostly empty. Black walked next to me, practically two feet taller than me, with his hands in his pockets. I was still trying to wrap my brain around the idea of having a godfather, especially that person being Sirius Black, but I had to admit it really was nice to meet him. He seemed nice. But also pretty lonely. I remembered the papers, how a lot of the articles said he was a Voldemort supporter when he was arrested. It must have been awful to be accused of something like that, and to not have anyone believe you.

We walked down the lawn together. The path to the Quidditch pitch veered off to the left, but the trail that led to the main gates continued straight on. I hesitated, trying to think of something else to say to Black. I didn't want him to think I didn't appreciate him telling me about my parents. And honestly, I wouldn't mind meeting him again and learning more.

"So, er…d'you think you might come back?" I asked, squinting in the bright November sunlight.

Blac's face was hard to see against the setting sun. "If you really want to, I'd love to come back," he said cautiously. "I could tell you more about your parents."

"Yeah, that'd be great," I said, relieved. "And…you know, maybe some stuff about you, too."

For some reason, that really seemed to surprise Black, but his face broke into the first full smile I had seen him wear yet. "Yeah, sure. Um, here," he added, reaching inside his pockets. He fumbled around until he found a scrap piece of paper and a muggle pen. He had to scribble a few times to get the ink rolling. He wrote out his address hastily and handed it to me. "Send me an owl when there's a good time for you."

I took the paper, looking at it curiously. Black's handwriting was elegant and cursive, not at all like my childish scrawl. The address said he lived near York.

"It really was nice meeting you, Harry," he said earnestly. He hesitated, then said, "Well, have fun at practice. And watch out for those Bludgers."

I smiled. "Yeah, I will."

Ron and Hermione, of course, were waiting anxiously for me in the Common Room later that afternoon. I had barely gotten one foot through the portrait when they bombarded me with questions. Ron thought it was awesome, but Hermione was still a little worried. Once I had explained my meeting with Black, they were both looking at me with expressions of awe.

"Are you going to meet him again?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, I think so," I replied, withdrawing the slip of paper that had Black's address.

"Wicked," was Ron's reply.

* * *

Black and I met up again two weeks before Christmas. He came to Hogsmede, and I was allowed off the school grounds to visit. I could tell Ron was a little jealous that I was allowed to go to Hogsmede when he wasn't. "Make sure you go to the Three Broomsticks," he said as I was pulling on a heavy coat. "Fred and George are always talking about it."

Black was waiting off to the side in the entrance hall, seemingly oblivious to the admiring stares he was receiving from a few female students nearby. Unlike the teachers here, Black didn't wear wizarding robes. Instead, with jeans and a heavy wool coat, he looked like he could blend in pretty well in Muggle London.

"Hey."

Black smiled when he saw me. It was still weird to think that an adult would actually be happy to see _me. _My only living relatives were Uncle Vernon's family, and they could hardly tolerate me.

We trudged through the snow to Hogsmede, Black leading the way. He asked me about my classes, about Quidditch, and how Ron and Hermione were doing—I talked about them a lot in the letters I sent him.

Sure enough, Black led me to the pub Ron had been talking about. Hogsmede looked similar to some parts of Surrey, with several little shops crammed together on winding roads. Hermione had mentioned that Hogsmede was the only all-wizarding village in Great Britain.

"Butterbeer?"

"Er, what?"

"I'll get you one," said Black, taking off his wool coat. "You'll like it."

I took a seat at one of the corner tables, feeling circulation return to my hands and feet in the warmth. Several people glanced at Black as he walked past, pausing in their conversations. Black either didn't seem to notice or else determinedly ignored them. I knew how it felt to have complete strangers ogle you, and I'm sure Black hated it as much as I did.

He returned a few moments later, two large mugs of an amber-colored liquid in hand. Now that I could get a better look at him, I noticed Black looked a little different than he had when we first met. His face was fuller, and he had a bit of color to him, like he had been out of the country recently. His hair had also been cut shorter, and I noticed that Black was actually a very handsome man. I was a little jealous; my own hair stuck up in every direction despite everything I tried, and I was shorter than nearly everyone else my age.

I took the mug Black passed me and took a curious sip. Instantly my veins flooded with warmth; I could feel my toes and fingertips tingling. It had a curious maple taste to it, but also just enough spice to feel it in the pit of my stomach.

"You like it?" Black observed, obviously amused by my reaction as I took another sip.

"This is amazing," I said, stunned. I had thought pumpkin juice was an impressive wizarding drink, but this stuff was awesome.

"Your dad and I used to sneak bottles of this stuff to our common room all the time," Black said, absently running a hand over his unshaven face. "During the Fifth Year Celebration, we had crates of it everywhere."

"Fifth Year Celebration?" I asked. I had never heard of it.

"Oh, yeah, in your fifth and seventh years you have the big examinations. In fifth year, it's your O.W.L.s, or Ordinary Wizarding Levels. How well you do determines what kind of classes you can take after that. It's a time-honored tradition for the fifth years to throw an enormous party on the night the exams end, so your dad and I volunteered ourselves for that one."

"Didn't you get in trouble?" I could only imagine the look on McGonagall's face if she stumbled into a noisy party in the Gryffindor common room.

"Er, not for the party per se, no," said Black, a small guilty smile on his face. "We also had firewhiskey, see, and only a few people were supposed to get their hands on it—you know, people we knew well, people we thought could hide it. But by the end of the night, a couple of fourth-year party crashers had been caught by Filch trying to make the suits of armor on the fourth floor dance."

I laughed at that. "What?"

"Yeah, their Heads of House weren't too happy about that," said Black. "McGonagall was pretty sure the firewhiskey came from James and me, but she never could prove it."

Black ordered another round of butterbeer when the first mugs went empty, and we talked—completely oblivious to the curious gazes around us—for the better part of two hours. Black told me more stories about my parents, and insisted on hearing more about me.

"We'll do a trade," said Black. "I get a question, and you get one. Fair?"

"Yeah, sure," I said, really not understanding what could be so fascinating about me. I wasn't sure where to start. Black waited patiently, standing out against the sea of robes and cloaks in his ordinary Muggle clothes. "Er…how come you wear Muggle clothes instead of robes like everyone else?"

"Old habit," said Black automatically. "I used to wear Muggle clothes all the time when I was in school because it bothered my parents."

My eyebrows shot up at that. "What do you mean?"

"My turn first," said Black. "When did you learn you were a wizard?"

"Er, when Hagrid came to see me over the summer," I replied. "My uncle refused to give me my mail, so finally Hagrid showed up to this little shack the Dursleys were hiding in and told me what I was. He's the one that first told me about my parents. So what's this about your parents?"

"I didn't get along with my family growing up," said Black. He rolled his eyes. "They were very serious about blood purity, and how it made you better, and I just thought the whole thing was a load of sh—I mean garbage. So my school years were spent rebelling, and it drove my dear mother nuts." He paused, then said, "Any favorite Quidditch teams?"

"I don't really know any," I admitted. "Ron likes the Chuddly Cannons." I paused. Black had given me permission to ask anything I wanted, but the thing I was most curious about was also pretty awkward to bring up. I had been debating it with Ron and Hermione the night before, but Black was really the only person who could give me a straight answer. "Er, so you're my godfather…" I began cautiously. "So, what does that… mean, exactly?"

'"Well," said Black slowly. His voice was neutral and didn't betray anything he was feeling. "After your parents died, normally it would have fallen to me to raise you. But," he continued, tapping his fingers absently on the side of his empty mug. "that obviously didn't happen. You went to go live with your aunt and uncle."

"So now…?"

Black frowned at that. "Can I ask you something? Do you like living with your aunt and uncle?"

I snorted at that. "Not really, no." More like absolutely not. I mean, yeah, they did put a roof over my head, but that roof was the cupboard under the stairs.

Black was still frowning at me.

"I mean, it's a place to live," I said quickly, feeling like I had to explain myself. "But it's obvious I'm just in the way there. I'm not wanted."

Black sighed heavily, fixing his mug with a dark stare. I almost felt like I had said the wrong thing when Black finally said, "Harry, I'm so sorry."

I was stunned. "What?"

"It's my fault that you went to live with them, you know," he said. I had to lean forward to hear him over the noise of the pub. He hesitated, like he was debating whether or not to continue. "I should have been there for you these last ten years, and there's nothing I can do to make up for it."

"Look, I'm not mad or anything," I said quickly, worried Black thought I was blaming him. "Getting thrown into Azkaban wasn't your fault—it was that other guy's. Pettigrew, or whatever his name is. "And between the Dursleys and Azkaban, I'm pretty sure I still got the better deal out of it all."

Black gave me a small smile I didn't quite understand.

"So, er, is that deal still good?" I asked after a minute. "About me living with you?"

Black looked completely stunned, and I immediately regretted saying anything. No doubt he was too busy with his own life, and just didn't have room for a kid. I was so stupid for even thinking—

"You really want to?" he asked. "Seriously?"

"Well, yeah," I said slowly, not comprehending the question completely. "I mean, if that's okay…"

Black was beaming at me. "I'll have to look into it, figure out what the whole process is, but I would love it if you came, Harry."

"Really?" I asked, heart skipping a beat.

"Of course! I debated bringing it up myself; you don't know me very well yet, and I didn't want to freak you out."

I grinned, elated at the prospect that I could leave the Dursleys forever. It was true that I didn't know much about Black yet, but my parents obviously trusted him enough to name him my godfather. "Have you got a house? When can I move in?"

"I have a house," Black answered, amusement coloring his voice. "with too many bedrooms, so you can pick your own. But Harry—don't get too excited yet, okay? I have to make sure the Ministry is all right with it, since your aunt and uncle are your current guardians."

"What is it like?" I asked, unable to help myself. Ron had told me stories about his family, and I could only imagine what it must be like to live in a magical house.

"Not thrilling, so don't get your hopes up," said Black. "It's an older number, about a million kilometers from anything. Three floors, and for some reason there are more bathrooms than bedrooms. But it's a house, and you'll always be welcome there." He checked his watch. "It's nearly four. I should get you back to school before Dumbledore thinks I've kidnapped you."

The idea sounded a little tempting. We stood up, and I followed Black out of the cramped pub, trying to ignore the stares we were receiving. Outside the winter sun was setting behind the mountains. I had to hurry a little to keep up with Black's long strides.

Now that my visit with Black was quickly ending, I debated whether or not to ask him about Nicholas Flamel. Ron had suggested the idea, but Hermione didn't want anyone to know what we were up to. As we headed up the winding lane leading out of Hogsmede, I decided it was worth a shot.

"Er, have you heard of someone named Nicholas Flamel?"

Black turned to look at me. "The alchemist?"

I shrugged, trying to hide my excitement that Black recognized the name.

"All I know is that he's a friend of Dumbledore's and is the creator behind the Philosopher's Stone."

"What's that?" I asked curiously.

Black shrugged. "The exact properties are a secret, but the general idea is that it can make you immortal. Flamel is nearly seven-hundred years old."

My jaw dropped. "Seven_ hundred_?"

"Something like that."

My brain was swimming with the sudden information. Could this Philosopher's Stone be the thing Dumbledore was hiding in the school? And why would Snape want it?

I looked up and realized Black was looking at me sideways.

"Is this part of your homework?" he asked. I couldn't read his expression.

"Er, yeah. History of Magic," I lied.

Black gave me a long look. "There's nothing wrong with a little curiosity," he told me. "Especially if it's forbidden—but you have to be smart about it."

I nodded, not sure how to respond.

"So I don't want to hear about you and your friends investigating that forbidden corridor," he added, nearly stopping me in my tracks.

"How do you-?" I began.

"Your dad and I were two of the biggest troublemakers in school," he said. "And the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

We looked at each other for a long moment.

"Promise?" Black prompted.

"Yeah," I said carefully. "Promise."


	3. Christmas

Chapter three:

The day after my meeting with Harry in Hogsmede, Ms. Novak arranged to meet with me at her office in London to go over the massive amounts of paperwork I had incurred. The city was wet and damp, but I was too lazy to summon a Warming Charm on my coat. I still hadn't gotten myself into the habit of using magic regularly. In fact, I could go entire days without so much as pulling my wand out of my pocket.

Her office was in the muggle business district, and I had to read and re-read her instructions to locate the office. Once I had successfully walked by the same set of doors three times—in the right order this time—a new door appeared crammed next to it. No one paid me any attention when I opened it and found myself in a long marble hallway that could not have possibly fit by Muggle standards.

Ms. Novak had given me her office number, and instructed me to bypass reception and just go straight up. The old wooden stairs creaked under my step, and I couldn't help but look at the hundreds of portraits lining the walls in heavy gilded frames. They watched me silently as I passed, giving me an eerie feeling.

Ms. Novak's office was on the third floor, the only one amidst a row of what looked like storage rooms and a loo. Her door was ajar, but I knocked hesitantly anyway.

"Come in."

Her office was a mess. There were boxes stacked everywhere, stray bits of parchment leaking out. A few portraits sat on the floor against the walls, and I had to follow a path carved through the mess to reach her desk. "Moving out?"

"Moving in," she said, looking up. "I was promoted, so I get a bigger office. I just haven't gotten around to organizing yet, so you'll have to excuse my mess."

I sat down in the only empty chair across from her. My eyes fell on a huge box full of mail, several of them singed on the edges.

"My fan letters, from after your trial," she said, following my gaze. "There were a handful of Howlers in there I didn't see—caused quite a mess when the whole thing caught fire."

"Who sent you Howlers?" I asked, frowning.

"I always get them," she said, shrugging. "It's part of the job; you're going to have people who disagree with what you're fighting for." Ms. Novak pulled a huge stack of parchment from off the floor and set it on her desk. "So this is what we're going to do today," she said. "But first…" She folded her hands over her desk, leaning ever so slightly towards me. "How are you doing?" she asked. Her question held far more weight than a simple pleasantry.

I thought for a moment, giving half a shrug. "Getting by," I settled on truthfully.

She gave me a long look, then said, "I understand you've already bought a house and settled in. Ollivander sent me your wand receipt. Have you been seen by a Healer yet?"

I raised an eyebrow. "My health is fine."

"You were imprisoned for ten years," she told me matter-of-factly. "And it's not just your physical health you need to be taking care of." Ms. Novak hesitated for a split second. "I'm not going to side-step this. The Ministry is obligated to cover all the psychological care you need." She saw me about to interrupt, and continued firmly, "And you do need it. Azkaban aside, you need to deal with the deaths of your friends with professional support."

I gave her a long, level look before dropping my gaze to stare at the leg of her desk. I considered telling her she was wrong, the nightmares hardly bothered me, but it was such a stupid lie I couldn't even bring myself to tell it. But I also couldn't stomach the idea of _therapy. _

"At least try it," she said. She spoke in her neutral lawyer voice, and it was so void of judgment that I almost forgot to feel embarrassed. "I know an excellent psychiatrist—he generally takes months to get an appointment, but he'll make an exception with my recommendation. And I want you to make an appointment with a Healer."

"That sounds lovely."

"Now, do you want tea?" she continued, ignoring my sarcasm. "This paperwork is going to take a bit of your time."

And there was a lot of paperwork. The deeds to my parents' old house, all their accounts, and possessions had fallen to me. Form after form I had to sign off on, basically absolving the Ministry of any responsibility towards me. Bank account information for my restitution payments. Forms to register my Animagus status. It was endless.

"So I was curious," I began hesitantly once the last of the papers had been signed and I was massaging my hand. "what the process was to get custody of Harry."

"Well, first it depends on whether you have any legal weight," she said, sorting through the pile we had just worked through. "You're his godfather, but did the Potters leave anything in a will stating they wanted you to care for their son?"

"Yeah, they did," I said.

"Then it's somewhat straightforward," she said. "I'll write up the forms you'll need and owl them for you. I imagine you've met with Harry?"

"A couple times," I said. "It's funny, because he's the one who brought it up. I didn't want to ask him right away and freak him out."

"Well, that should also expedite the process. The only thing would be whether or not his current guardians would want to keep sole custody."

"I doubt it," I said, remembering Harry's comments about the Dursleys.

Ms. Novak stuffed about a fourth of the papers into an envelope and handed it to me. "Keep these—they're your copies of everything." She scribbled a name and contact information down on the back of a business card. "His name's Marius Newman. He works out of an office here in London." She handed the card to me. "Go see him. And I'll follow up with you when I owl off your custody forms. If you need anything else," she added. "don't hesitate to contact me."

We stood up and shook hands. It seemed like such a menial gesture of gratitude toward the woman who had worked relentlessly for my freedom. Her demeanor was so business-like it was easy to forget that this wasn't just par for the course; she had taken my case when no one else would. Without her, I might still be in Azkaban.

Without thinking about it too much, I pulled her toward me in a tight hug. When I let go she gave me a small smile. Then she pointed at the papers in my hand. "Owl Newman, will you?"

I hesitated. "Maybe," I allowed.

She rolled her eyes. "Expect an owl in about a week."

I stopped by Remus's house before heading home, and filled him in on my meeting with Harry and Ms. Novak.

"Are you ready to have a child living with you?" Remus asked, blowing the steam from his mug.

"Probably not," I admitted, setting my tea down. "But I can't screw it up too badly, right?" I sighed, remembering Harry's eagerness to come live with me. In the moment it had thrilled me, but now I wondered if it had more to do with despising the Dursleys than anything else. Harry and I exchanged letters often, and I had met with him twice, but he barely knew me. "You know Harry said his aunt and uncle don't care for him living with them?"

"Then even more reason to take him in," said Remus. "A child can't grow up in a home where he's not wanted."

"But he is kind of grown up," I said. "He's eleven now, and he acts like he's older than that."

Remus waited, not understanding my point.

"You know, I used to think about how Harry would grow up, back before they died. How Lily would encourage good behavior, James would be a little over-protective, and I would slip in and give Harry a little bit of a wild side. Remember that broom I bought him for his first birthday?"

Remus chuckled. "It barely went two feet off the ground, and Lily thought you were insane. Harry was barely walking yet."

"I would take Harry to Quidditch games with James, and tell him about girls if he was too embarrassed to ask his dad. And he would've inherited our talent for trouble, but he would have been a better person than all of us because of Lily. That's how he was supposed to grow up. Not a stranger to his own name."

There was a long silence. Remus gave me a heavy look.

"Guess I have to start somewhere, right?" I finally said, forcing a small smile on my face.

* * *

I ended up making a routine exam with a Healer the next day, mostly because my joints had taken to aching all night long and it was maddening. I waited in the office, working on the day's crossword and trying to ignore the receptionist across from me who hadn't stopped staring since I checked in. Overhead I could hear a clock ticking away, and the wizard next to me kept clearing his throat. I scribbled out letters on my crossword roughly. It wasn't making any sense.

Just as I shoved it back into my coat pocket, a dark-haired Medi-witch appeared and we made eye contact. She set her jaw and inclined her head, and I knew it meant to follow her. She had dark hair and pink cheeks.

Hestia Jones.

I remembered her face.

"I guess a congratulations are in order," she said when she had shut the door to the examining room. "I can't say I really expected to see you again."

"I thought you worked downstairs," I said, taking a seat on the table Hestia gestured towards.

"I work wherever they tell me to," she said by way of explanation. She took a seat on the countertop across from me, resting her feet on the chair. "So I'll be going over your basic stuff, do some labs, and then Healer O'Halloran will be in. So any chief complaints before we start?"

I thought about it. What wasn't wrong with my body these days? I felt like I had aged ten times faster than normal in prison.

"Boring stuff. I'm tired all the time. My joints hurt at night."

"How is your sleep?" she asked, taking notes.

I shrugged. "All right, I guess. I mostly use sleeping draughts or whiskey to knock me out."

"And your appetite?"

"Normal?" I said, phrasing it as a question as I thought about it. "I don't know."

"And bowel movements are normal?"

And right into the awkward medical stuff. I tried not to remember the fact that Hestia has seen me naked before. "Yeah."

Hestia hopped off the counter and took note of my vital signs, in much the same way she had when I first met her. Her hands moved expertly, but gently. "Your numbers have improved since last time," she said, comparing two pieces of parchment. "But your weight barely went up. What's your diet like?"

"Cereal," I said. "Tea. Whiskey. Uh, whatever's at the local market."

She placed her fingertips on either side of my throat, feeling for Merlin knows what. "Arms up," she instructed, holding out her own. She felt around near my armpits, working as she spoke. "Well, I can tell you right now your diet sucks," she said. "You need to be eating a lot more than cereal. And not just for your weight, but for everything. Nutritional deficiencies can cause fatigue and contribute to your joint pain. Lay down flat." She felt various parts of my abdomen and ran and poked her wand all over. Satisfied, she gestured for me to sit up again.

She ran a few more examinations, collected two vials of blood, and lectured me on the merits of a well-balanced diet before the Healer came in. He was an older man, with a thick tuft of white hair on his head. He looked over the information Hestia handed him before repeating some of the same examinations himself. I was starting to feel like the subject of an experiment.

Finally they sent me on my way with a promise to owl me my results and a list of nutritional potions I should supplement my cereal diet with.

Upon exiting the hospital and back into the Muggle world, I pulled out a cigarette and walked aimlessly toward the train. Sometimes I told myself I should travel by magic, but often it was just too fast for my taste. It was weird to meet with people to get my life back together one moment, and then be standing alone in my empty kitchen the next. If I was always moving, not necessarily doing anything, it was easier to pass the time.

Muggle London also didn't stare at me as I passed; I was just another face. I could blend in here the way I couldn't in my own world.

I stubbed out my cigarette and bought a ticket at King's Cross. I joined a crowd of people purchasing coffees nearby. The train ride north would take up most of my afternoon, but that was fine with me.

Rain battered the train windows as the grey landscape whizzed by; first the cityscape of London, then gradually the surrounding towns and eventually countryside. I sat with one other man in my compartment, one wearing a dark suit and reading the paper intently. We politely ignored each other.

I shut my eyes, resting them as I thought about what I would write to Harry tonight. I never really told him about the more complicated things I was up to, instead focusing on sharing a story about Lily and James in each letter.

Maybe I would tell him about the time James and I broke into the laundry in fourth year and charmed all the Slytherins' Quidditch uniforms pink.

Darkness had fallen by the time my train reached its stop, and the wind and rain had picked up. I pulled my coat tighter about myself as I walked through town, wondering if it was worth it to stop into the pub or just go home.

Or maybe I'd just send Remus a message, see if he'd be interested in dinner.

I rounded a corner on the narrow street. A group of older teens were staring at me from the shop across the way, one of which began to head toward me. But just as his foot left the sidewalk, I had already disapparated.

I could see lights on in my house, but I was sure I had shut everything off this morning. Frowning, I pulled out my wand and crept toward the back kitchen door. I hadn't dueled in ten years, but I was sure I could still defend myself if it came to it. I ducked down low as I passed the house before peering in through the kitchen window. Standing there, working on some kind of a stew, was a familiar light-haired man.

"Fuck, Remus, I thought you were an intruder," I said, shutting the door behind me. Remus looked up from his handiwork. "I was about to blow you up."

"What took you so long?" he asked, eyebrows raised. He set his knife down and gave me an irritated look. "I've been here for two hours. I was about to send a search party after you."

"What do you mean?" I asked, removing my wet coat and throwing it over the back of a chair.

"Dinner? You asked me to be over at five, and it's nearly half past seven. So I just started making something; I figured you'd have to come home eventually."

Oh shit. "Ah, crap, I forgot," I admitted. It seemed my short-term memory had been impacted by Azkaban as well these days. "I got out of my rubbish appointment at St. Mungo's, and it completely escaped my mind."

"So what's the verdict?" Remus asked, handing me a butterbeer.

"Well, my health is utter rubbish," I told him, taking a swig. "But that figures."

"Anything we can fix?" Remus asked. His tone was light, but I knew it worried him. It was probably strange to not recognize his old friend. Sometimes I didn't recognize myself.

"Well, I'm supposed to eat and sleep better," I said nonchalantly. "And I have compromised hearing on one side—I think she said it was the right? Says it's probably an injury from when Peter blew up the street." There was a familiar, nauseating tightness in my chest at saying his name. I tried to shake it off. "They're supposed to owl me if they find anything more significant."

"So that's not so bad," said Remus casually. I think he was trying to lighten my mood. "You could have a permanent case of Spattergroit."

"Wouldn't that be a dream?"

"So while you were out causing trouble, I took the liberty of putting your stuff away," said Remus, pointing to the clean counterspace that was completely overcome with junk just this morning. "Who's Marius Newman? You had his business card or something, so I stuck it to your icebox."

"My new psychiatrist," I said, rolling my eyes.

Remus looked at me seriously. "You're seeing someone?"

"No, but Novak thinks I should," I said, shrugging. I took a seat at the kitchen table, leaning back comfortably in the chair. My tone was light and casual, but Remus gave me a level look.

"I don't think it's a bad idea," he finally said, throwing vegetables into a pot to boil.

I didn't reply. I had purposely put the thought in the back of my mind. As long as I didn't consciously think about anything, I could get by. "What should I get Harry for Christmas?" I asked, changing the subject. "What do kids like these days?"

Remus shrugged. I got the impression he wanted to push his point further, but he knew when to let things go. That was part of the beauty of a friendship with Remus—he never pushed. Just waited. "How about something from Zonko's?"

"I could get him a box full of dungbombs," I said thoughtfully.

"I'm pretty sure those are banned at school."

"Even more reason to, then."

"I dunno. Quidditch gear, perhaps?"

"I know the school got him a good broom," I mused. "But yeah, maybe gloves or something. It's a shame we don't have the map anymore."

Remus tried to hide a smile. "I'm sure with a few, er, suggestions about where to look, Harry will discover the secret parts of the school soon enough."

"Are you trying to corrupt my godson?"

"You really think I'd let James' son go through Hogwarts without any idea on how to sneak into the kitchens?"

"Or off school grounds?"

Remus hesitated. "I'll leave that one up to you," he said diplomatically, pointing a wooden spoon at me.

* * *

Christmas was a weird affair. I hesitated asking Harry outright, but then Remus threatened to invite him himself. So just before the end of term, close to the deadline, I finally threw caution to the wind and asked Harry if he'd like to join me for Christmas.

_Of course! _He wrote back immediately. _Can you pick me up from the train?_

Those few days before the Hogwarts break were spent getting my shit in order—cleaning my house, finally unpacking the bedding I had hesitantly bought for Harry's room, and stocking up my kitchen properly for the first time. As I worked—chain-smoking, and well past two a.m.—I wondered if I had purchased enough for Harry's room. It seemed rather plain, with little more than basic furniture, bedding, and curtains. There was nothing to adorn the walls, no books or personal belongings to fill the empty bookshelf. Remus kept telling me Harry would fill them up himself soon enough.

I just wanted Harry to feel like he could envision this place as a home.

I was nervous picking him up at the train—several parents gave me level stares, watching in bewilderment as Harry hurried toward me, dragging his trunk behind him. He glanced over his shoulder a few times, but otherwise didn't say anything about the looks we were receiving. He was a good sport about my unfortunate notoriety.

We traveled back to the house with magic, something I still wasn't quite accustomed to.

"So this is it," I said awkwardly, levitating Harry's trunk into the house. "It's still a work in progress."

"It's amazing," said Harry. His candid admiration made me smile.

"Want to see your room?" I asked.

"Yeah!"

I had designated the next-largest room as Harry's, which was located on the second floor, just down the hall from my own. "It's not much," I warned hesitantly as I led him down the hall. "I don't know what you like, so it's still rather bare."

I stood back to let Harry enter. He stood just past the doorway, eyes wide. "This is all mine?"

"Well, it's what I could put together at the last minute," I said quickly. "You're welcome to move things around. The color's fine, right? I figured blue would be a safe color."

Harry turned to look at me. "Sirius, this is incredible. I've never had my own room before."

"You share a room with your cousin?" I asked, surprised.

"No," said Harry absently. "Dudley has his own room."

That didn't make any sense. "So where do you sleep?"

Harry's face fell a little. He dragged his trunk to the foot of the bed. "Er, under the stairs." He shot me a nervous look.

His reply didn't register with me right away. It was so absurd I almost thought Harry was joking. No one would make a child sleep under the stairs.

_The Dursleys don't want me, _a familiar voice echoed in my head. _I'm just in the way._

I felt lightheaded. Anger and guilt began to swim at the forefront of my mind. And Harry continued to watch me carefully, like he thought he might be in trouble any minute. I forced everything to the back of my mind. I made sure to craft a small smile on my face. "This house is your home, too, Harry," I said carefully. "And you will not be sleeping in any bloody cupboards."

Harry looked relieved at that. "Can I see the rest of it?" he asked.

"Sure," I said, trying not to sound distracted. "I'll give you the grand tour."

Harry seemed genuinely impressed with the house. He especially loved the charmed washing machine and enchanted electrical system. I made a mental note to thank Remus for dragging me to Diagon Alley all those times to put this place in order.

"I don't know what you like to eat," I said when we had reached the kitchen. "So I can always pick up something from the market if I don't have it."

"Do you have that butterbeer stuff?" he asked. "that we drank in Hogsmede?"

I laughed. "A lifetime supply of it. Seriously, every time my cabinet gets halfway empty, it refills itself. Here, I'll get you one."

Harry and I sat down at my kitchen table opposite each other. I flicked my wand to start a pot of tea while Harry drank his butterbeer. He watched as I did so, fascinated by the easy spellwork. Most kids would think nothing of it, but magic was still so new to Harry.

"So what are the rules?" Harry asked.

I blinked. "Rules?"

"Yeah," said Harry slowly, looking at me quizzically. "You know…like chores and stuff."

I thought about it. I knew there should be rules; all good parents had them. But what? "I don't know," I said slowly, trying to think of what James' parents used to make us do as teens. "Er, don't leave the house without saying something first. And no underage drinking."

Harry looked like he was trying to stifle a laugh. "That's it?"

"What else should there be?" I asked. "I haven't done this before. What kind of rules are you used to?"

"Well, I had to go to my cupboard after the dinner chores," said Harry cautiously.

I tried not to envision my godson sleeping in a cupboard his entire life. "What time was that?" I asked in a voice of forced calm.

Harry shrugged. "Like seven?"

I snorted. "No. You can stay up 'til ten, I don't care."

Harry grinned broadly at that.

"What else?" I continued, standing up to get the whistling kettle.

"I had to take out the trash every night," Harry continued. "And vacuum—"

"Vacuum?" I repeated, not understanding.

"Yeah, like, cleaning the floors," said Harry. "It's this muggle machine that does it. And if I wanted to eat between meals, I had to ask first."

"Well, the trash part is fine," I said, feeling completely out of my element. "And I don't have this vacuum thing, so that's out. And you can eat whenever you want," I added, eyeing Harry's skinny frame. "I'll do most of the chores; I can use magic, so it's faster anyway. Just deal with your room."

Harry gave me an expectant look.

"You don't have to keep it spotless," I added. "Just…I don't know, don't let anything grow in there."

Harry grinned again.

"I'll do the cooking," I said before hesitating. "Unless you want to? Are you old enough to know how to cook?" It was definitely different having Harry in my house than just talking through letters and visits. There was still so much about him that was a complete mystery to me.

"Aunt Petunia used to make me mind the stove if she was busy," Harry said, shrugging.

"Right, I'm the cook, then," I said, returning to the table with a mug of tea. "Er, what foods are absolutely out of the question?"

"Aunt Petunia used to make me eat whatever she cooked," said Harry slowly. "But if I had a choice, I don't really like cauliflower or that bread with all the seeds in it."

"Oh, well, that's a shame because I love cauliflower and put it in practically everything."

Harry's face fell a little. "Oh," he said awkwardly. "Okay."

"Harry, I'm kidding," I said quickly.

Harry didn't know how to respond to that and settled on smiling nervously.

We had a lot an awful lot to learn about each other.

Dinner was a casual, if a little awkward, affair. While I cooked, Harry asked where the silverware was so he could set the table. I had considered telling him that he was a guest and no such action would be necessary. But Harry couldn't be a guest here; this would be his other home, and I would have to let him do things like that.

I got a fire going for the first time in my previously-unused sitting room, and Harry and I played several rounds of wizard's chess while I told him stories of his parents.

"So to get back at him, your dad slipped him a Love Potion—"

"A what?" Harry asked, laughing.

"Love Potion. It's exactly what it sounds like. So then the poor kid's standing outside the Transfiguration classroom with a huge banner that reads, 'Emily Branstone, will you marry me?' We ended up having to call Professor Slughorn—the potions master at the time—down so he could give Weatherby the antidote. Of course, Weatherby wasn't going to do any such thing until Branstone said yes. He didn't live that down for the rest of the year."

Harry laughed. "Your stories remind me of my friend Ron's brothers."

"Oh yeah? Are they a load of troublemakers, too?"

"Yeah," Harry said, moving a piece on the chessboard. "One time they set off dungbombs in the Slytherin quidditch team's changing rooms."

I gave a half-chuckle, half-yawn as I checked my watch. "All right, it's definitely bedtime."

Harry followed me upstairs where I bid him goodnight before peeling off my clothes and sliding into bed. I turned the lamps off with a hasty wave of my wand before setting it on the over-crowded nightstand.

All in all, I supposed it was a fairly successful first day with having Harry over. The kid seemed to enjoy himself, and there were absolutely no signs of Harry making a run for it. As I stared at the dark ceiling, my thoughts turned to Lily and James. What would they think if they saw me now? Would they be happy I was finally in Harry's life, or angry that I had wasted ten years?

I pulled the covers up well past my shoulders and rolled over, falling into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

My eyes shot open and I practically jumped a foot out of bed. Through the darkness, I could see a white face in front of me.

James's face.

"You okay?" he whispered.

I instantly reached out for the lamp, knocking half the junk off the nightstand in the process.

Illuminated, the face looked back at me with worry. It wasn't James.

It was Harry.

"What's going on?" I mumbled, looking around my room for the source of the trouble.

"You, er, were having a nightmare," said Harry nervously. "It sounded pretty bad, so I thought I should wake you up."

My eyes fell on Harry's anxious face. He was standing next to my bed, his pj's wrinkled and his hair sticking up everywhere just as James's had done.

"S-sorry," he stammered. "I just—"

"No, don't apologize," I mumbled, sitting up straight. I pressed the heels of my hands against my brow. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up." I sighed, swinging my legs out of bed. "I'm going to make a cup of tea; you ought to get back to bed. Get some sleep."

"Okay," said Harry, giving me one last look in the dim light before exiting my room. I waited for the sound of his bedroom door closing before getting up.

It was hard not to feel embarrassed. In the back of my mind I knew I still had nightmares, but I often didn't remember them by morning. I had no idea they were obvious; Remus rarely said anything when I was staying at his house.

If Harry was going to live here, then I definitely needed to get around to putting silencing charms on my bedroom.


	4. Settling

A/N: I apologize for the lack of real action in this chapter, but there needed to be some filler between the months after the trial and the point at which the plot picks up. I tried to keep a light hand on some of the angst, but I find it impossible to believe that Sirius would just revert back to a reckless, carefree nature so easily. His story will pick up, of course, but all things come in due time.

Chapter four:

When Harry returned to school, the days seemed to drag but the months slipped by quickly. It was a weird concept of time.

Ms. Novak sent me a thick envelope of papers through owl post shortly after the new year, full of the forms I would need to secure my custody of Harry. Included in the pile of parchment was a letter from Ms. Novak, instructing me to be prepared for the possibility that this might hit the papers, and to be careful of the letters I opened from strangers. I glanced at the rubbish bin next to me, which was regularly stuffed with a mix of unopened fan and hate mail that I used as kindling in my fireplace.

As winter turned to spring, I finally grew tired of my tedious routine and decided I needed a project to distract me. I was sitting on my back porch, overlooking the wildly overgrown property I was now owner to, and made up my mind.

I would dig a garden.

Remus was all for the idea, offering to help me most days. I made sure Remus knew his help was conditional, and he would have to accept half of the garden's yield every season. Remus fought the idea, but when I made it clear I could never eat my weight in tomatoes by myself every summer, he relented.

I forced Remus to accept half of the constant "lifetime supplies" of things I had been receiving these few months, but endless butterbeer and a set of new robes did little to improve Remus's lot. He refused to accept money from me, and he equally banned me from buying him anything. I would often write made-up letters from anonymous persons, thanking Remus for "seeing the truth and fighting for Sirius Black's freedom" and stuffed deposit receipts for the money I secretly dropped in his account into the letters. I managed to convince the tenants of his parents' old house that I was the new property manager, and to come to me exclusively with any repair needs after Remus had dropped over a hundred Galleons—nearly all of his life savings—on fixing the leaky roof. A couple times I would hide a Sickle or two in the couch cushions at his house or in the pockets of old clothes. I would leave Galleons, but I thought that was too obvious.

I bought all the tools needed to dig up the land, having already marked the perimeter with Remus the day before.

"Should I burn it all first?" I asked one cool, sunny morning in March. We were standing on my porch, finishing up a morning tea before conquering the first stages of transforming my property. After the ground had warmed up, wild plants of all kind had sprung into life, tangling up in each other. "I read in _Magickal Gardening _that it helps fertilize the soil."

"I don't think it's going to burn that easily," said Remus, eyeing all the damp green.

"Sure it will," I said. I pointed my wand at it. "_Incendio!"_

The flame burst into life in the center of the planned garden, a space of several meters in all directions. We watched it for several minutes; while the fire burned bright, it didn't advance very far. I pointed my wand at it again, guiding the flames toward the thickest part of the wild vines.

We ended up having to let it slowly burn for two days, time which Remus and I passed by drinking on my back porch and coming up with ideas of what to plant. By the second week, the ground had been thoroughly tilled, and we were halfway through forming our raised beds when an owl swooped down and dropped a letter on my head.

"It's from Dumbledore," I said, pulling off my gloves to pick it up. I broke the seal, and began reading. "He wants me to come to Hogwarts," I said after a moment. I turned it over, expecting to see more there, but it was blank.

"Why's that?"

"I dunno," I said, pocketing the letter. "He didn't say."

"Think it's about Harry?" Remus asked.

I shrugged. "He wants me to come by the castle tomorrow."

Remus shrugged in response. "Dunno. It's Dumbledore. It could be anything. Hey, did you ever finish up that cauldron of fertilizer?"

"If by cauldron you mean the pot on my stove, yeah," I replied, replacing my dragonhide gloves. "It's simmering right now, so it should be ready to add as soon as we finish up here."

Remus wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. He looked around. "Think we should build a fence around all this?"

"Oh, I just figured I'd plant a row of Biting Buttercups around the perimeter."

Remus raised a disapproving eyebrow at me. "Really?"

I shrugged in response. "Well, sure. It'd keep everything away from the vegetables."

"Including you, I'll wager."

I laughed at that. "I can handle some flowers nipping my arse. It'll be the first bit of action I've seen in ages."

"And now I feel bad for the flowers, if it's your arse they're nipping."

I clod of dirt at him, hitting Remus squarely in the shoulder, before turning back to the work at hand.

* * *

I walked through the mostly empty corridors to the school the next morning. I figured it had to be a Hogsmede weekend, because I only ever saw the younger students lazing around the halls. They watched me as I passed, but I was too distracted to care.

Upon reaching the familiar gargoyle statue, I gave the password Dumbledore had written me and ascended the spiral stairs slowly. Dumbledore's office door was open, and I hesitantly knocked to get the Headmaster's attention.

Dumbledore looked up from his desk and smiled at me. I hadn't been in this office since I was a student, and felt alarmingly like one coming in here.

"Have a seat," Dumbledore offered, nodding to the chair on the other side of his ancient mahogany desk. "I am pleased you found the time to see me on such short notice."

I shrugged. "I don't really do anything these days."

"I was under the impression that you and Remus were building a garden? A lovely idea—I am quite partial to butternut squash, myself. Alas, you are not here to discuss botany," he said, stopping himself. He gave me a level look; while his face was kind, there was worry etched around his eyes. "The matter I wish to discuss with you concerns Harry."

"Is he all right?" I interrupted.

"As well as ever," said Dumbledore. He folded his hands together on the top of the desk. "It recently became known to me that you are seeking full guardianship of Harry."

I waited for him to continue, but Dumbledore just gave me an unreadable look. The portraits in the office watched on in complete silence.

"That's the plan," I said slowly, wondering what Dumbledore would have to say about that.

"Before you continue on, there is something of grave importance I must make known to you. But before I begin, you must understand that Harry cannot know—he is still so young, and I do not wish to inflict such heavy knowledge on him."

I frowned. "Okay," I said slowly.

"I shall get straight to my point," said Dumbledore, and his expression grew slightly darker. I began to feel uneasy, and my frown deepened. "I do not believe that Lord Voldemort has disappeared from this world for good. I have significant evidence that suggests so, and it would be unwise to ignore the signs. It is my belief that Voldemort's spirit lingers on, and should he ever regain his strength, I believe he will continue where he left off and go searching for Harry.

"With that in mind, Harry enjoys certain protections as a result of his mother's sacrifice. An old magic, in the form of blood, that carries on through Lily's elder sister, Petunia. So long as Harry can call his aunt and uncle's house home before the age of seventeen, Voldemort cannot touch him."

That news hit me like a train. "I thought Harry went to live with them because you thought I was the traitor," I finally managed, voice weak.

"That was a factor," Dumbledore allowed seriously. "But had I known of your innocence then, I still would have instructed Hagrid to take young Harry to his aunt's house.

"Sirius," Dumbledore continued soberly. "While you have every legal right to exercise your guardianship over Harry, I ask that you consider the risks very seriously. The day Harry leaves that house forever is the day that his protection disappears."

"You don't think I can protect him?" I asked, feeling heat rising in my voice.

"That is beyond the point," he answered. "Is Harry's safety worth the risk?"

I didn't have a reply to that. I didn't know what to do with this information—I was so sure I would get Harry back. It was the only way I knew how to make amends to James and Lily. It was the only thing I had thought about for ten years. And now Dumbledore was asking me to give him up? Leave Harry with the aunt and uncle that kept him in a cupboard under the stairs?

"I don't expect you to make a decision right away," Dumbledore continued. His blue eyes searched my face, but I have no idea what he saw there. "But I wanted you to know, with complete honesty, the weight your decision entails."

I closed my eyes. I didn't want to believe this was happening. "I don't know what to do," I finally whispered, looking around the office as though one of the old portraits would give me the answer.

"Bear in mind that while you may not provide Harry a permanent home, you can still be a significant part of his life," Dumbledore said, straightening up in his chair. "He can visit you on school breaks, provided he returns to the Dursleys at least once a year."

"D'you know I told him he could live with me if he wanted to?" I said, not really expecting an answer. "He was so excited. How can I just take that back?"

Dumbledore looked at me somberly for a long minute. I suddenly felt sick. The room was starting to spin.

"Harry cannot know this yet, Sirius," he finally said. "One day he will have to know the full weight of his reality, but I do not wish to impress that upon him yet. I was rather hoping to give him a few more years of innocence."

I got a mental image of Harry sleeping in the cupboard in his fat cousin's old clothes while his relatives enjoyed real beds. He had never known innocence.

"I won't say anything," I finally replied dully, giving Dumbledore the affirmation he was waiting for. "But how do I explain it to him? 'Sorry, Harry, changed my mind.'"

"I will not pretend that there is an easy way about this," said Dumbledore. "But I trust you will find an appropriate way to explain to Harry."

I doubted that very much. When I returned home, I immediately set about getting drunk and smoking all my remaining cigarettes.

It wasn't like I _couldn't _adopt Harry; no one had any legal right to stop me. But if Dumbledore was right and Voldemort was still out there, was it worth the risk? And what if Voldemort never materialized again, and I just left Harry to continue sleeping in a cupboard for the rest of his childhood?

I didn't know what to do.

Several hours later, I was lying on the rug in my sitting room, staring at the ceiling with a half-empty tumbler in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Remus had sent two owls by—one this morning, and the other not long ago—asking about my meeting with Dumbledore, but I hadn't been able to reply yet.

I was banking on getting blind drunk first.

By no means did I expect it to solve my problems, but it was something to do that held the dark satisfaction of a little self-destruction. And as the night wore on, that sounded more and more appealing.

Of course, when I woke up the next morning in the exact same spot, blinded by the bright sun interacting with my hangover, I knew I would have to make a choice. Harry's life would continue to go on even if mine felt like it had reached a complete standstill. In that ugly morning, I knew my promise to Lily and James would always outweigh my selfish desires. Protecting Harry's life, no matter the cost.

Even if I wasn't in it.

* * *

It took time, but eventually I grew to grudgingly accept my new reality. Harry completed his first year at Hogwarts while simultaneously giving me a heart attack after the news that he had faced Voldemort's broken spirit inside the school. Between me raging and freaking out, Dumbledore managed to tell me the story of what had happened, confirming his suspicions about Voldemort attempting to return to power. I met with Harry with the intention of giving him a scolding like he had never seen before, but all I could do was hug the life out of him once I saw him.

As agreed upon by everyone involved, Harry spent his first two weeks of summer break with the Dursleys, but not before I had a word with them. Ensuring Harry had a real bedroom and proper meals, to be guaranteed by the threat that I might show up, I was able to relax a little easier those fourteen days.

But just a little.

Harry spent the remainder of the summer between myself and the Weasley family, with whom I had steadily grown closer to as a result of Harry's friendship with Ron. The boys typically spent their days playing Quidditch in the yard or lazing around either house.

Second year came and went for Harry, once again ending in an anxiety attack and a verbal tirade the likes of which Dumbledore had never seen. I had begun to second-guess my decision to let Harry stay with the Dursleys, but I knew it wouldn't make a difference once Harry returned to school. He would always manage to find trouble. So just before the start of his third year, holding his Hogsmede permission slip hostage, I explained to Harry the importance of not running after trouble.

"But I don't," he had said, frowning. "Trouble just usually finds me."

"I know," I allowed tiredly. "And it doesn't help that you're the Boy-Who-Lived—" Harry rolled his eyes at that. "Stupid or not, it's true. And I'm always going to worry about you. So if you could _please _have just one school year that didn't involve Voldemort or Death Eaters, you'd make your nerve-stricken godfather very happy."

Remus ended up taking the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor after the previous one was Confunded, which helped alleviate my fears of Harry's safety. If I couldn't be at the school every day, then at least someone I trusted would.

Miraculously, Harry managed to do just what I'd ask. I had received very few warning letters from McGonagall, and absolutely none from Dumbledore. Remus' letters were void of any bizarre goings-on at the school. Once several months passed and I was sure Harry would come out of Hogwarts unscathed, I was able to focus on other things in my life.

Like keeping track of Peter.

One night in Diagon Alley I ran into Mundungus Fletcher, an old acquaintance from before the war. After several rounds, Mundungus confessed he had heard of Peter wandering around Albania, the last place Voldemort had been rumored to be hiding. In exchange for a spot of gold, Mundungus promised to keep me updated with any bits of information he heard regarding Peter.

The Ministry, of course, had no real leads. They finally settled on charging him for murder and compliance with the Death Eaters, but that hardly did anyone any good when Peter had all but disappeared. Occasionally articles would appear in publications like the _Daily Prophet _or _Witch Weekly, _claiming to have new insight on Peter's whereabouts, but like always, they were full of nonsense speculation.

Harry's third year ended without fanfare, and after a routine two weeks with the Dursleys, I was able to pick him up and bring him home with me.

"Aren't we past this, Petunia?" I asked from the doorstep. I always wore muggle clothes, but I had entertained the idea of breaking out my wizarding robe just for this occasion, if just to mess with Petunia.

"You're merely here to pick up the boy, nothing else," she replied curtly, blocking the entrance to the house while we waited for Harry to collect his things. "And you could have at least gotten a telephone by now. Do you know what it looks like to have _owls _swooping around here all day?" she hissed in an undertone, looking around to make sure there were no neighbors in the bushes, listening.

"All right, let's go," said Harry, appearing behind Petunia with his trunk and owl cage in hand.

"Say good-bye," I said, giving Petunia a wicked smile.

"Bye, Aunt Petunia," said Harry dully, not even pausing as he moved past me toward the driveway.

"Mind yourself," was Petunia's farewell. She shot me a nasty look before shutting the door and locking it.

"You shot up like a weed," I noted once Harry had reached the driveway.

"Huh? No, I didn't," said Harry self-consciously. Even his voice was different now. "I'm still shorter than Ron."

"You're like a foot taller," I told him. "I'm going to stop letting you go off to school if you keep growing so much."

Harry smacked my arm.

"So there's a Quidditch game this summer," I told Harry as I loaded his trunk into the usual rental car I got for this exact purpose, as strongly requested by Petunia Dursley.

"You need to travel the _normal _way," she had said haughtily.

"Since when did you get an Audi?" Harry asked, eyebrows raised, as he placed Hedwig's cage into the back seat.

"I was going to get the Ferrari," I said. "Do you know how fast those things go? But your stuff wouldn't have fit in there without magic, and I don't need to freak out your Aunt before we even get out of her driveway. Anyway, Arthur says he might be able to get tickets. Ireland against Bulgaria. I figured you might be interested."

"Might?" Harry repeated excitedly. "Are you kidding? That's awesome—we have to go!"

"Well, we need tickets first," I said, smirking at the look of sheer excitement on Harry's face as I turned over the engine to the car. "You know, I'm still not used to driving this bloody thing—it's a bit different from the bike."

"Sirius, do you have a license yet?" Harry asked as we backed out of the driveway a little too quickly to pass for Petunia's "normal."

"What do I need a license for?" I asked, shifting gears and laying on the gas pedal. We sped down Privet Drive and I turned sharply onto Magnolia Crescent. "I know how to drive."

"Because there are traffic laws," Harry said, hanging on to his passenger door.

I waved my hand dismissively as I sped into town and toward the highway. "You know, muggle transportation might be slow and tedious sometimes, but they got one thing right with this whole car deal," I said, pressing the gas pedal further and slipping narrowly between two cars. "It's almost as exciting as flying." I looked over at Harry's white face and sighed, relaxing on the gas pedal. "All right, fine."

Harry let out his breath. "Thanks. Didn't want to die today."

I snorted at that. "You wouldn't have died. You know James and I took my motorbike out one night—got it up to a hundred and eighty kilometers before the muggle police saw us. Got out of it just fine."

"Yeah? How?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"Well, to be fair we were interrupted by Death Eaters," I said, recalling the incident in the narrow alleyway. "And the officers were too shocked to follow us once we had levitated their car." I shot a sideways glance at Harry. His dubious expression made me laugh. "Relax, Harry, I'm not going to drive the car that fast.

"So, how was school?" I asked, changing the subject. "What was it like having Remus as your professor?"

"Really good, actually," Harry replied, looking out the window as we drove out of Surrey. "Professor Lupin's an excellent teacher—best Defense teacher we've had."

"Well, he'll be happy to hear that," I said. "You know, I always thought he'd make an excellent teacher, but it was just never something he thought about pursuing."

"So what did you do all year?" Harry asked me.

I shrugged. "I planted some Bouncing Bulbs not too long ago—they've finally started sprouting."

"Oh, great. You know we studied those in Herbology this year? Those things gave me a black eye."

I couldn't help but grin at that. "Then you might want to stay clear of the garden this summer," I warned him.

Harry gave me a suspicious look. "Why?"

"Hagrid gave me some Chinese Chomping Cabbage to try out."

"Remember when your garden used to be normal?" Harry asked me conversationally. "Now it's like a death-trap, going back there for some tomatoes. You do still grow tomatoes, yeah?"

I smacked his arm, keeping my eyes on the road. "Of course I do. How else would you grow up big and strong?"

"Oh my god, Sirius—"

"Now tell me, did the Dursleys behave?" I asked a little more seriously, looking over my shoulder to switch lanes.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Harry give a non-committal shrug.

"Now what does that mean?"

"Oh, just that they're the same as always. They're still terrified you'll show up to the neighborhood and start passing out pamphlets about magic. They put Dudley on this diet—see, he's finally gotten bigger around than he is tall, and he doesn't fit into those stupid uniforms his school has. Dudley got so mad he chucked his PlayStation out the window."

"His what?"

"It's like a muggle computer thing you can play games on," Harry replied. "Bit stupid, really. Now he hasn't even got _Mega Mutilation Part 3 _to take his mind off things."

I managed to cut the usual three-hour drive down to two, and so it was shortly after lunchtime when we made it to my house. Per Harry's usual routine, his trunk engaged in a sort of slow explosion as all of its contents gradually found themselves scattered about the room throughout the week.

I returned the rental car the next morning, and after a quick pruning in the garden, came inside the house to find Harrry sitting at the table, still in his pj's and eating a bowl of cereal in spite of the fact that it was almost eleven.

"I have to run to London in a minute," I said, putting the garden shears in the kitchen sink. "I'll be back shortly after lunch."

"Where you off to?" Harry asked without looking up from his bowl.

I hesitated. "Errands. Boring stuff. Don't set the house on fire," I added, washing my hands quickly.

"No promises," Harry replied before I grabbed my wand off the kitchen counter and disapparated.

I left the narrow alley I had materialized into and headed north on the empty street, making my way towards the now-familiar building on the north side of London. Locating the familiar unmarked door just around the corner, I tapped it twice where the doorknob should be. The door popped open, and I walked up the narrow stairs that led to the familiar waiting room.

The receptionist greeted me neutrally as I signed in, and I took my usual seat in the corner. I pulled out my morning's crossword and began scribbling in words as I waited for eleven-thirty to hit. Finally, after twenty minutes of checking and re-checking my watch, the office door opened and Newman stood there waiting for me.

"Sirius," he greeted pleasantly. "It's been a while."

"Four months," I replied, taking my preferred seat on the armchair by the window. Newman sat down casually on the long leather sofa nearby. I crossed my ankle over my knee, and began absently twirling my pen in my fingers. I still had my crossword out on my lap.

"Tell me what you've been doing," he invited.

I had finally caved and made an appointment with Newman just after Harry left to start his third year at Hogwarts. Only Remus and Novak knew I was seeing him, but the shameful secret as to why remained strictly with me. No one else needed to know that my nightmares had begun to border on paranoia.

I shrugged. "Not much, like always. I planted some Chinese Chomping Cabbage in the garden. Harry's with me for the summer; I picked him up yesterday."

Newman, a man about twenty years my senior with reddish hair and a weather-worn face, waited for me to continue. We both knew I hadn't technically answered his question. The real question.

Why did I come back?

I watched the boats pass lazily across the Thames for a long minute. Finally, I settled on a familiar topic to break the silence. "The nightmares have gotten worse."

"In what way?" he asked.

I gave a half-shrug. "They're more vivid, I guess," I replied, still looking out the window. "I had to stop taking that Dreamless Sleep Potion because it was knocking me out for days. But that other sleeping draught was making me sleepwalk. I wake up in my garden with my wand in one hand and a knife in the other without any idea how I got there."

"And the content is the same." He phrased it as a statement rather than a question.

I gave a long inward sigh. "Yeah."

"What has your life been like these last few months?"

"I have too much time on my hands," I replied honestly after a moment's silence. "Too much time to think. I have enough gold to live off of fifty times over, but I almost consider finding a job for something to do—if I could find someone to hire me, of course. The garden worked for a while, but I need a new distraction."

"Distraction?"

"Something to take my mind off of things."

Newman gave a heavy sigh. "Remember what we said about distractions?"

"Yeah, they're a vehicle that impedes the acceptance of trauma, which is the only way to heal," I replied, a hint of derision in my voice. We had had this argument many times. "Look, I can't walk into a building without planning half a dozen escape routes in my head. I have a hundred pre-planned scenarios laid out if someone were to break into my house. I can't just shut that off."

"But these what-if scenarios aren't the source of your nightmares," said Newman knowingly. "It's something that's already happened that you can't let go of."

I had a flash of James and Lily lying dead shoot across my mind's eye. "It's been nearly thirteen years, but it feels like nothing's changed," I finally said. I gave Newman an expectant look. "Why is that?"

"You tell me," he said. "What do you feel when you think of Lily and James?"

I half-groaned, half-sighed. I hated talking about them. "I want to disappear," I said after a minute.

"Why?"

I gave a non-committal noise that wasn't really an answer. I shrugged, throwing my hand up aimlessly, then started again. "I hate myself so much sometimes that I feel like I can't take it... It's my fault they're gone."

"So you blame yourself for their deaths," he said calmly. "You've forgiven everyone else who played a role—obviously excepting Pettigrew—but not yourself. Survivor's guilt," he added gently to my waiting look. "Until you forgive yourself, you're always going to have these nightmares."

"So the obvious solution is to forgive myself," I said flatly, my voice tinted with sarcasm. "And how do I do that?"

"Sirius, I'm not an instruction booklet. Some things you have to discover for yourself. My job is to guide you to look at things from a different perspective, but ultimately the healing must come from you."

"I need to be able to sleep at night without having weapons hidden under my bed," I said firmly. "That's why I came back. Just…through the summer, at least."

"Because Harry's visiting? You don't want him to know?"

My expression was answer enough.

"Sirius, for as long as you treat this as a source of shame, it's never going to go away. You're feeding your own demons."

"Can you help me, or not?" I asked, refusing to acknowledge Newman's advice. It was the obvious answer, but it was also an impossible one.

He sighed. "Instead of sleeping solutions, you can try something for anxiety. Something strong enough just to take the edge off." He scribbled something down on a piece of parchment. "Stop by the Apothecary in Diagon Alley and give these a try. I hope you'll come back and let me know how it goes."

I took the parchment and folded it carefully, stowing it away in my pocket. I rubbed a hand across my jaw, looking out the window again. The mid-afternoon sun was high in the sky, casting what looked like diamonds over the surface of the river below. "Yeah. Sure."


	5. Chaos at the World Cup

Chapter five:

The remainder of the month passed in a slow anticipation of the Quidditch World Cup. Sirius and Lupin arranged to have my birthday celebrated with the Weasleys this year, and so there were nearly a dozen of us crammed inside Mrs. Weasley's tiny kitchen while I opened presents.

Sirius made me save his for last, a long, heavy object buried under the usual socks and jumper from Mrs. Weasley, a pair of new quidditch gloves from Hermione, and handmade joke items from the twins.

"Extendable Ears," Fred whispered in my ear, swiping a small, badly-wrapped package off the table when Mrs. Weasley wasn't looking and stuffing it into my hand. "Mum tried to confiscate them, so don't let on that you've got a pair."

"What do they do?" I asked quietly, frowning at the small box in my hand.

"Later," Fred muttered quickly when Mrs. Weasley had returned to the table with a large cake.

The mystery present, it turns out, was the latest edition Firebolt. I practically pounced on the broom once I had removed the wrapping, and the others all leaned in to see.

"No way!" I roared.

"Woah, don't break it, she's brand new," Sirius chided me as the twins ripped the wrapping off the table for a better view.

"Slytherin is going to shit their pants when they see this—"

"George!" scolded Mrs. Weasley.

"That's the best broom on the market!" said Ron, wide-eyed.

"Wicked," Fred and George agreed in unison, looks of strong approval on their faces.

"Can I take it out?" I asked earnestly, looking around the adults faces smirking at my obvious excitement.

"I dunno," said Lupin slowly, giving Sirius an apprehensive look. "What do you think?"

"I really did just buy it for show," Sirius replied, folding his arms. "It'll lose value once it's flown—"

"Merlin, Sirius, _come on—"_

Sirius gave me a huge smirk. "Don't break it."

Like that, I followed Ron, Ginny, and the twins out to the back garden. We nearly tripped over each other in our haste to get outside.

I had seen the broom in _Quality Quidditch Supplies _the previous year, but never in my life did I imagine I would actually own one. The Firebolt handled like an extension of myself, obeying the slightest movements with precision. My old Nimbus still flew well, but there was a drag starting to form any time I took off from a stationary position.

I let the others take turns, and the Weasley children were reduced to little more than orange blurs as they zoomed across the expansive yard.

"This is the same broom Viktor Krum flies," said Ron excitedly while he gently handed the broom back to me. There was a slight hesitation in his movements.

"Who?"

"The Seeker for Bulgaria," said Ron. "He's only like seventeen, but he's already on the national team, he's that good."

"We're going to see him at the World Cup next week," George said. "He's probably the best Seeker in the world."

"But Ireland's got the better team," Fred chimed in.

"Damn right they are. It'll be an excellent game."

I carefully wrapped the broom back up when we returned to Sirius's house, storing it gingerly in my now mostly-empty trunk. My old Nimbus was still there, and I felt oddly guilty replacing it. I figured I would give my old broom to one of the twins, or maybe Ron. I was more than happy with my gift, but I felt a little odd having a broom worth more than my old Nimbus and all of the Weasley's brooms combined.

Sirius reminded me half a dozen times to get a start on my summer homework that week, but all I could think about was the upcoming Quidditch World Cup.

"Are you sure you aren't coming?" I asked the night before I would head to the Weasleys for the game.

Sirius shrugged. "Nah, I'll let you go off with the Weasleys. It's the full moon anyway, so I figured I would keep Remus company."

Sirius did let on about Lupin's lycanthropy last Christmas, but it was still weird to picture the gentle, friendly Defense professor turning into a fully-grown werewolf every month.

"What time are you supposed to go over there?" he asked.

"Around dinner," I replied. "We're leaving super early in the morning, and Ron's dad said it would be easier to travel together that way."

Sirius nodded, taking a sip of tea. "Got a bag packed?"

"No," I replied honestly. I didn't need much, and figured I could back it just before I left.

"You're as bad as me. Well, make sure you've got one ready to go in a bit. I'm heading over to Remus's house around four tomorrow. I've got a huge load of wolfsbane that's ready to be harvested to bring over."

"I thought Snape was making the potion for him."

"He is," said Sirius with great dislike evident in his voice. "but only during the school year. Unfortunately it's a complicated potion to make, so Remus and I have been practicing it. Plus I don't trust that greasy git to resist tampering with Remus' potion at school one of these days."

I absently moved the last few bites of my dinner around on my plate.

"You'll have to tell me the look on Malfoy's face when he sees your new broom," Sirius added mischievously.

I grinned at that.

"I shouldn't encourage gloating," Sirius added hastily. "But Malfoy's a git, so maybe just a little's all right."

Sirius and I spent the evening lazing around in his sitting room. He read through one of the books in his endless collection while I tried to force my brain to absorb my Transfiguration homework. I was too preoccupied with the upcoming World Cup to focus, and going to sleep later didn't help either. I lay awake in my bed for nearly an hour, staring at the Chuddley Canons poster Ron had given me until my eyelids finally grew too heavy to keep open.

* * *

"_Face me like a man, why don't you?" the old man demanded, palling up his arthritic fists._

_The snake coiled around the high-backed chair menacingly, scales glinting in the light of the fireplace. _

"_Oh, I am much more than a man," came the high, cruel voice. The balding man turned the chair around, placing its occupant in the old man's direct line of sight. He let out a loud scream of terror, stumbling back several steps. With a funny phrase and a bright flash of green light, the old man man fell backwards, hitting the floor with a heavy thud._

I woke with a start, sure my head had split open. Blinded by the pain, I rolled out of bed, clutching my head. In the back of my mind, I could still hear the cold, cruel voice.

_Avada Kedavra!_

I managed to grab my glasses off the nightstand and shove them on my face. Knees weak, I stumbled out of bed and made my way down the dark hallway toward Sirius' bedroom.

The door was unlocked, and I could faintly see the dark shape of Sirius tangled up in blankets in the middle of his bed. I knew sleep didn't come easy to him and I hated waking him up, but I didn't know what else to do. The blinding pain had abated, but there was a horrible ache right where my scar was.

I reached out a shaky hand toward Sirius's shoulder, and he jumped as if electrocuted. In one fluid movement he ripped the covers off himself and whipped around. Through the darkness I could see the fleeting look of panic on his face before it settled into a mix of relief and surprise.

"Sorry to wake you," I said, unsticking my throat.

"What's wrong?" he asked, voice hoarse from sleep. With a wave of his wand, the lamps lit up the room in a soft glow. He took a closer look at me, and instantly, worry flooded his face.

"My scar," I said hastily, bringing a hand to touch it gingerly. "I just woke up to this unbelievable pain—"

Sirius hastily got out of bed and gestured for me to sit down.

"I had this dream," I continued, frowning. "Voldemort was in it. And—and Pettigrew, too. There was an old man, they were all in this house. Voldemort killed him. I woke up, and my scar—it felt like it was on fire."

Sirius's eyes were wide with worry, all trace of sleep gone from his face.

"Do curse scars hurt sometimes?" I asked.

"I don't know," Sirius admitted. "Has this happened before? The nightmares or the pain?"

"No," I said, frowning. "I haven't dreamt of Voldemort since before Hogwarts."

"I'll send an owl to Dumbledore and get his advice," Sirius said, running a hand through his hair. "Harry—if you're not feeling up to it, maybe you should skip the World Cup—"

"No!" I said quickly. "It's really not that big of a deal—I'm sorry I woke you up, I was kind of half awake when I came in here, and I wasn't thinking too clearly." My scare was still throbbing, but I wouldn't miss the Cup for anything. "It's really not a big deal—it just caught me off guard, I guess."

Sirius raised an eyebrow like he didn't believe me, but said, "Okay…then maybe you should head back to bed. You want something? Cup of tea?"

"Er, yeah," I agreed, sure I wouldn't be able to fall asleep any time soon. I followed Sirius downstairs to the kitchen. I sat at the table while he put the kettle on. He stood at the counter, hastily scribbling a quick letter I was sure was addressed to Dumbledore.

We both drank our mugs of tea in silence. Sirius had an unreadable expression on his face, and I was wondering if it was a mistake to rouse him over a nightmare. Surely it was something I could have brought up in the morning, when I was properly awake and a lot calmer.

Sirius sent the letter off to Dumbledore and I followed him back upstairs several minutes later.

"Get some sleep," said Sirius when we neared my bedroom.

"Right," I said. "You too."

Sirius gave me a wry smile before heading to his own bedroom. I waited until I heard him gently shut his bedroom door. I had the nagging suspicion Sirius wouldn't sleep the rest of the night; I learned about his vivid nightmares when I first came to stay with him, and doubted whether they had abated since then. The noise concealment charm around his door and the occasional Dreamless Sleep Potion floating around the house confirmed my suspicions.

I laid back in bed, staring at the dark ceiling. My thoughts drifted back toward the dream. I tried to recall the man's face, but it was all a blur. Just a snake, a flash of green light, and the high, cruel voice.

_Avada Kedavra!_

* * *

Promising Sirius I felt much better that morning, I packed an overnight bag and waited until it was time to head over to the Weasley's. Hermione was already there, and I filled her and Ron in on my dream the previous night.

"Did you tell Sirius?" was Hermione's immediate reply.

"Yeah, 'course. I woke him up right after it happened, but he didn't know what could have caused it. He wrote Dumbledore to ask."

"Do you think maybe it really happened?" Ron asked apprehensively. "I've heard of Seers that dream about the future."

"I doubt it," I said dubiously. "I wouldn't be so awful in Divination if I could dream stuff like that."

"I'm sure Dumbledore will know what to do about it," said Hermione confidently. "So we just have to wait until we hear back."

I wasn't sure how long that would be, but I quickly forgot the nightmare during all the hype preparing for the game. Fred and George pooled their life savings together, determined to bet on the game's outcome.

"Ireland will win, of course," said Fred.

"But Bulgaria gets the snitch," added George.

Ron raised his eyebrows. "What kind of odds are those? You gits'll lose all your money."

"Want to put a sickle on that?" Fred asked, scooping their money into a sack.

I slept just as poorly that night, too excited about the game to rest. When Mrs. Weasley got us all up early that morning, Ron and I hurried through breakfast and barely got our clothes on straight before we met the rest of the family downstairs. Mr. Weasley led us up a steep hill behind their house, where we were to meet with a few other wizards in the area. Mr. Weasley introduced us to Amos Diggory and his son Cedric, who I vaguely recognized as the Hufflepuff Seeker.

I wasn't sure what to expect upon arriving the arena, but thousands of enchanted campsites just out in the open certainly wasn't top of my list. A few witches and wizards made attempts at wearing muggle clothes in a ploy to be inconspicuous, but most were in such odd combinations that robes would have looked more natural.

Once our own site was set up, Mr. Weasley led us to the Quidditch pit and all the way up to the Top Box.

"Told you Dad got us excellent seats," said Ron happily, examining his freshly-purchased. Omnioculars. "Woah! I can make that guy pick his nose! Ha, and again!"

The game was spectacular. Each team had an opening ceremony, though Ireland was clearly the favorite as leprechauns rained gold on the audience. Ron stuffed his pockets full to burst, but not before shoving a fistful in my hand.

"For the omnioculars!" he shouted. "Now you have to get me a Christmas present!"

Ireland flew spectacularly, but they were nothing compared to Viktor Krum. He was tall and wide, and awkward on his feet—not at all the build I had come to associate with an excellent Seeker. But Krum flew like it was second nature, whizzing between the other players and the balls so fast he was little more than a red blur. When he caught the snitch, ending the tournament, I cheered wildly alongside everyone else.

"That was excellent, wasn't it?" said Ron as we headed back to camp several hours later. Night had fallen, and the distinct sound of celebrations could be heard all around us. "Dunno why Krum got the snitch when he did, Ireland was too far ahead—"

"I think he wanted to end it on his own terms," I mused. "Bulgaria was never going to catch up and he knew it."

The Weasleys, Hermione and I celebrated, though not nearly as boisterously as the others in our section. Once or twice Fred and George snuck off—I was pretty sure for a secret drink from the neighboring tent—and it was well past midnight when Mr. Weasley finally instructed us to go to bed.

Sleep, however, did not last long. While the general chaos had died down, there were the occasional bangs coming from the section next to us. I awoke with a start, looking around sleepily for the source of the noise. Before I could figure it out, Mr. Weasley suddenly burst in, looking furious.

"Up, all of you!" he said loudly. Fred and George rolled over on their cots, and Ron sighed loudly.

"'S goin' on?" Fred muttered sleepily.

"Someone thought it would be a brilliant idea to start some sort of fight," said Charlie, who was still fully dressed. I pulled on my sneakers, frowning.

"And now it's turned into a full-on riot of sorts," Bill chimed in. "You lot are to head to the edge of the forest and wait—"

"We're going to help—" Fred interrupted.

"_No, _you're not," said Mr. Weasley sternly. "I want you and George to take them to the other side, near the water pipe. We'll meet you lot there when we have this sorted—"

There was another loud bang, this time from only meters away. Several screams broke out, and I could hear footsteps running past our tent.

"Go, now!" said Mr. Weasley firmly.

I followed the others outside, and we were met with a scene of chaos. Several tents had been set on fire, and people were running around everywhere, trying to get away.

"This way!" George yelled over the noise while his father and three eldest brothers went the opposite way, deeper into the campsite.

We pushed and squeezed against terrified people, half of which were still in their nightclothes and barefoot. Somehow in the chaos, Ron, Hermione and I became separated from the others. I tried to keep an eye on their bright red hair, but a crowd was pushing against us, moving us back toward the riot.

"Where did they go?" Hermione yelled over the noise.

"I dunno!" I shouted back. I looked around hastily for the treeline. "That way!"

We squeezed between tents, walking over abandoned possessions and hundreds of team flags strewn about the ground. Finally reaching the tree line, we ducked into a narrow clearing occupied by several frantic-looking families.

"What do you think that is?" I asked, turning to Ron and Hermione.

"They're after _muggles,_" came a familiar voice in the dim.

I spun around. Draco Malfoy was standing there, alone. He had a strange look of fear and excitement on his face.

"See?" he said, pointing.

We peered between the trees, and could see the distinct shape of three people hovering twenty feet of the ground. The man was spinning wildly, and the woman had been turned upside down, her nightgown falling past her arms. Beneath them stood half a dozen masked figures, laughing wildly.

"That's sick," said Ron quietly, grimacing at the sight. "That's really sick."

"You ought to hide _her,_" Malfoy continued, pointing at Hermione. "Unless you want to show off your knickers, too, Granger? That'd give us all a laugh."

"Hermione's a witch," I spat.

Draco raised a pale eyebrow at me. "If you think they can't recognize a mudblood when they see one, feel free to stick around," he said, looking back at the muggles floating not fifteen yards away.

"Let's get out of here," I said, leading Ron and Hermione deeper into the woods. I vaguely heard Malfoy let out a laugh behind us, and felt a mix of hate and fury rise in my stomach at the thought of him. "We need to try to find that water pipe."

The deeper we got, the fewer the faces became. Hermione was, of course, a witch, but I couldn't help but feel a strong urge to protect her. If those people were going after muggles, then it didn't hurt to get Hermione far away from them.

We passed a group of beautiful, silver-haired women and their numerous admirers. Among them, I recognized the conductor of the Knight Bus, Stan Shunpike, who was insisting he had invented a broom that could reach Jupiter. Ron made a beeline toward them, but Hermione and I yanked him back, determined to find the others.

We located a quiet clearing near the edge of the woods. Judging by the colors on the tents here, we had completely passed our site and were near Ireland territory. Not far off, we could see the bright orange glow of the blazing tents on the other side of the campsite. Every few seconds came a loud bang, occasionally accompanied by faint screaming.

I leaned heavily against a tree while Ron and Hermione sat down on the forest floor.

"Think the others are all right?" I asked.

"Yeah, Ginny's with Fred and George," said Ron. "And I think Dad went to join up with Diggory and the other Ministry people."

Then, completely unexpected, a bright jet of green light shot out of the trees behind us and high into the sky.

I whipped around, stunned. "What-?"

"What is that?" Hermione said, jumping to her feet. I followed her gaze; between the canopy, a bright green shape erupted over the night sky.

"It looks like a skull," said Ron, frowning.

"Where did it—?"

Before I could form my question completely, several new voices suddenly appeared all around us. Ron jumped to his feet, dragging me sideways just as jets of red light began shooting from every direction.

"Run!" Ron yelled.

It didn't take more encouragement than that. We took off, ducking low to dodge the spells coming at us from between the trees. I could see dark shapes moving fast around me, no doubt other wizards who had been hiding from the chaos at the campsite fleeing, too. Before we had made it twenty feet, my foot caught in an exposed root and I fell to the ground hard. I scrambled for my glasses, the forest floor illuminated by the shape in the sky. Scrambling to my feet, I saw a dark shape move in front of me. I whipped out my wand defensively, breathing hard.

The man had turned on his heel and taken off, but not before I caught a glimpse of his face.

It was Sirius.

Relieved, I ran after him. The jets of red light behind us had grown further and further away. "Sirius!" I shouted, trying to catch up. We had reached the edge of a small clearing in the trees, and the green shape overhead shone brightly from here. Suddenly a spell shot right past my ear, missing me by inches and exploding against a tree trunk just in front of Sirius. He hesitated, pulling out his wand and looking over his shoulder for the source of the spell.

I had caught up to him, and grabbed his arm. "Sirius, you have no idea how—"

But my voice died in my throat when the man turned to look at me.

His eyes were no longer grey, but instead a clear blue, and his nose was longer, his jaw narrower. This was definitely not Sirius.

But he looked exactly like him.

I frowned, too stunned to mutter a hastily apology. The man looked at me with equal surprise, eyes wide.

"Potter?"

"S-sorry," I stammered. "I thought you were someone I knew—"

"Over here!" came a loud voice not far behind me.

The man yanked his arm out of my grip, and in one quick movement, had disapparated.

Suddenly Ron's face appeared in the distance, shortly followed by Hermione. They must have realized I wasn't with them and turned around.

"Harry, come on!" Ron yelled as the voices grew closer. Several jets of light came at us from behind the trees. I followed them deeper into the woods, running in a zig-zag pattern to avoid the curses coming our way.

But they had closed in around us. There was no way out.

Knowing what was coming next, I yelled, "Duck!" just as a cascade of red light came at us from all directions.

"Stop!" came a new voice, panicking. "Stop! That's my son!"

The spells stopped suddenly. The red glow disappeared, leaving only the pale light of the moon and strange mark high overhead.

Mr. Weasley rushed forward, helping Hermione to her feet.

"What is the meaning of this?" Demanded a voice I recognized as Amos Diggory's.

"You tell us!" said Ron shakily. "You lot nearly killed us!"

"Which one of you did it? Who fired the Dark Mark?"

"The Dark what?" I said, dumbfounded.

"Amos, be serious!" snapped Mr. Weasley. His face was ghost white. "They're kids!"

Diggory turned on him. "The Dark Mark was fired from this very spot!"

"Yeah, we know!" said Ron hotly. "But it wasn't any of us!"

"Then who?"

"We don't know," I said, looking around. The witches and wizards surrounding us were in a mix of muggle clothes, wizarding robes, and pajamas. They all had their wands out, pointing at us.

"We were just sitting in the clearing, waiting until it was safe to go back and find the others," said Hermione breathlessly. "And then suddenly a jet of green light shot out of the trees behind us—"

"A likely story!" said Diggory wildly.

"Amos, get a grip on yourself," said one of the witches, pocketing her wand. "They're teenagers—they don't know the spell."

"Put down your wands," barked Mr. Weasley, looking around him. "Put them down for Merlin's sake!"

Everyone shot each other a look, but seemed to come to a silent agreement as they all lowered their arms.

"Where did it come from? Who fired it?" the witch asked again. She had dark hair and wore a monocle over one eye.

"Dunno," I said. "It was a man's voice. Before we could see anything, you lot showed up—"

"And started aiming for us, so we took off," Ron added.

"I'm going to take them back to the camp," said Mr. Weasley sternly. "If they didn't see anything, there's no point in interrogating them further."

"What was that about?" Ron asked once we had made a good distance back toward camp. "What is that skull thing?"

"The Dark Mark," said Mr. Weasley wearily. "It's the sign of You-Know-Who. His followers cast it into the sky when they've killed."

I felt my stomach drop at that. "You don't think—?"

"There have been no reports," Mr. Weasley replied, answering my unfinished question. We broke through the treeline and re-entered the camp site. The fires had been extinguished, and several people were repairing the damage done to their tents. The muggles from earlier were nowhere to be seen. "It's likely the activity tonight was caused as a bit of fun—a crowded place, high energy. I imagine the Death Eaters couldn't resist."

"So what is the Dark Mark doing in the sky, then?" Hermione asked. I looked over my shoulder, and saw several official-looking Ministry wizards attempting to dissipate it.

"Hard to say," said Mr. Weasley. "Maybe someone wasn't so fond of the Death Eaters' game tonight. A lot of them were never found out—others avoided Azkaban by implicating each other or claiming they acted under the Imperius curse—"

"The what?"

"Imperius curse," repeated Mr. Weasley. "It's one of three spells known as the Unforgiveable Curses. It forces a witch or wizard to act without free will—if properly done, the caster can force the victim to murder his own brother."

"There you lot are," said Ginny breathlessly when we had approached the tent. "We thought we'd lost you for good!"

"We got separated, and couldn't find you," I said.

"Merlin, Bill, what happened to your arm?" Ron demanded, catching sigh of his brother.

"Nothing serious—I'll patch it up later," said Bill absently. "You lot ought to get inside—there's no good to be had wandering around out here right now."

While Charlie helped his brother dress his bleeding arm, we all took seats around the table. It was nearly two in the morning now, but none of us felt like sleeping. It had grown eerily quiet outside.

My mind kept flashing to the man in the woods. Now that we were in the safety of the tent and I could think clearly, I couldn't help but wonder if he was the man to set off the Dark Mark. But he had looked so much like Sirius that I didn't want to say anything in front of Diggory or the other Ministry employees—just the mention of Sirius' name combined with anything Death Eater related would start a trainwreck of events.

He had obviously recognized me, but then so did nearly everyone else in the wizarding world.

When we had finished our cups of tea, and Mr. Weasley sent us off to bed for the second time, I kept playing the encounter with the strange man over and over in my head. When we got back to Ron's house, I would pull him and Hermione aside and ask if they saw him too.

With the image of the eerie Dark Mark playing across my mind's eye, I fell into a restless sleep.


	6. This Old Ghost

Chapter six:

Not long after the sun had risen, the Weasleys' owl Errol was already tapping against the back door out of the kitchen.

Yawning, I let him inside and untied the scroll from his leg. Errol pecked at my toast before taking off, nearly clipping the doorframe as he went. Remus was passed out on his threadbare sofa, having just changed back into his human form an hour before. I took a sip of my tea and looked over Arthur's hastily scribbled letter.

_Sirius,_

_There was Death Eater activity at the World Cup last night._

_Harry and the others are completely safe and unharmed._

_It's still under investigation, but it appears some old Death Eaters were torturing muggles for sport after the game ended. Someone sent up the Dark Mark and they scattered._

_I'll explain more when you get here._

_Arthur_

Without hesitation, I ran into the living room, yanked on my shoes, and collected my wand from the coffee table. I considered waking Remus, but the transformation always exhausted him, even with the Wolfsbane Potion, and I knew there would be no rousing him any time soon.

I set off for the Burrow straight away, marching up the dew-covered lawn for the main door. Molly opened it before I had quite reached the front step.

"Everyone's fine," she said quickly before I could speak. "We just sent everyone back upstairs to sleep some more."

"What happened?" I asked a little too roughly once I had stepped inside. Arthur and his two oldest were sitting at the kitchen table, toast and tea in front of them. Mrs. Weasley gestured that I should have a seat.

"Not long after the celebrations had started to die down, some Death Eaters decided it would be fun to torture the muggle who owns the campsite. They had him and his family dangling in the air while they watched on, laughing," said the oldest—Bill, I think his name was—tiredly. "It turned violent shortly after that—they were setting tents on fire, and it became complete chaos."

"I sent the younger kids off to go hide in the woods while we helped stop the violence," said Arthur. There were deep shadows under his eyes as though he had not slept in days. "But I guess Harry, Ron, and Hermione got separated from the others. They hid in the woods, and somehow ended up near a Death Eater who fired the Dark Mark into the sky. That wizard wasn't apprehended or identified."

I looked from one face to the other in front of me. I hadn't slept in over two days, but I suddenly felt wide awake. "Then what happened?" I asked in tones of forced calm. Molly set a cup of tea down in front of me.

"Well, the Death Eaters who started the whole thing disapparated before we could get close," said Arthur darkly. "The Ministry wiped the memories of the muggles in question, and set about doing damage control, but not before the press got wind of what was going on." Arthur rolled his eyes.

"What do you mean?" I asked, frowning.

Bill picked up a nearby newspaper and handed it to me. There, on the front page, was an enormous photograph of the Dark Mark with the heading, _Death, Destruction at World Cup. _I skimmed through the first several paragraphs.

"They make it sound like people died," I said. "'Several bodies were removed from the forest'? Who wrote this rubbish?"

"Rita Skeeter," Charlie replied.

"Great," I said with disgust, tossing the paper aside. I had become unpleasantly familiar with Rita Skeeter's journalism after featuring in many of her outrageous stories throughout the last three or four years.

We heard the sound of movement upstairs. Someone turned a bathroom tap on and I could hear what sounded like Ginny's voice talking to someone.

"I guess they're up," said Arthur, yawning. "You're welcome to stay for breakfast, if you like."

"Thanks, but I should probably take Harry home. I need to check in with Remus as well—he hasn't been feeling well," I said. I'm sure Harry had informed his friends Ron and Hermione about Remus's condition, but I doubted whether Arthur and Molly knew. I imagined Arthur may not mind, but Molly struck me as the type to find the whole thing too alarming to handle.

Harry trudged down the stairs, followed by Ron. He was still in his pajamas, but he had his bag of belongings in his hand.

"Ready to go?" I said tiredly, relieved to see Harry was perfectly intact.

"Yeah," said Harry, his voice still thick from sleep. His hair was sticking out in every direction, just as James's had done. "See you lot later. Thanks again for the ticket, Mr. Weasley."

Molly gave Harry an enormous hug as I got to my feet. "Be good to your godfather!" she said in a very motherly tone. "And if we don't see you before then, have a wonderful rest of your summer!"

The morning sun was bright across the horizon. Harry followed me to the edge of the property and gave a groan when I held out my arm for him to hang on to. A second later, we had apparated into the kitchen of my house.

Harry dropped his bag to the floor and sank into one of the chairs.

I still had a sick feeling of anxiety in my chest. I rummaged through the cabinets, looking for something to cook for breakfast. I settled for something easy, and pulled out several eggs and tomatoes from the ice box. While I waited for everything to cook, I took a seat opposite Harry. He must have seen the worry all over my face, because then he said, "I'm fine, Sirius, really. Nothing happened."

I ran my hands tiredly over my face. "But that doesn't erase the fact that something _could _have happened."

"Sirius—"

"I know, I know," I interrupted. It drove Harry nuts when I worried about the what-ifs. A few times he compared me to Molly. "But it's my job to worry about you."

Harry shrugged, relenting.

"Want to tell me what happened? Arthur said you lot got separated."

Harry yawned, then said, "Yeah, it was hard staying together—everyone was running around panicking, and a crowd pushed me, Ron, and Hermione away from everyone else. So we went into the forest to wait—that's when someone shot up the Dark Mark."

"And you didn't see who, right?"

Harry shook his head. "Nah, it was too dark. But they were real close—just behind us. Sirius, don't look at me like that!"

I tried to compose my features. "A _Death Eater _was right behind you?" I said, voice strangled.

Harry threw his hands up. "I guess, but we didn't know it at the time—it was too dark to really see anyone until after the Mark was up. That's when the Ministry people showed up, and started firing spells all over the place. So we took off running, and so did everyone else who had been hiding there. And then I tripped over a stupid root, and fell behind. I thought I saw _you _there—I ran after him, but it was just some bloke that looked like you—"

My heart stopped at that. "You ran after a stranger? Right after the Dark Mark goes up?"

Harry gave me an annoyed look. "I thought it was you, and I didn't know what the bloody Dark Mark was, okay?"

"What if he was the one who cast it?" I challenged. "Did you tell Arthur about him?"

Harry hesitated. "Well, no—"

I gave an exasperated sigh.

"Look, when I say he looked like you, I mean he _really _looked like you. When the Ministry showed up and asked if we had seen any faces, I didn't exactly want to toss your name in there—'Yes, I thought I saw my godfather running away from you lot right after the Mark went up!' You see how bad that would look?"

I ran a hand through my hair. I had to admit that Harry was right. Though my name had been cleared nearly four years before, the exact nature of my innocence was still a hot topic. "Okay. You're right. I'm over-reacting."

Harry's face softened. "It's okay," he said like it was no big deal. "It was just kind of weird, you know?"

"What was?"

"That bloke—have you got a twin I don't know about?"

I gave a sort of half-shrug. "I had a younger brother. He died a long time ago."

Harry's face fell. "Oh. Sorry."

I shrugged again, leaning back in my chair. "He was younger than me," I said. "And a much better son, as I was constantly reminded."

Harry gave me a confused, waiting look. I had almost never spoken about my family to him.

"You remember when we first met? And I told you what kind of wizards my family were?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, well, Regulus was idiot enough to believe them," I said harshly. "Stupid git. He joined the Death Eaters."

Harry's eyes widened at that. "You're kidding!"

I shook my head. "I bet our parents thought he was a right little hero for joining up at first. But from what I hear, he got cold feet when he found out what he was being asked to do, and tried to back out. Well, you don't exactly hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It's a lifetime of service or death." I paused, frowning. I hadn't thought of Regulus in years. He was just a ghost now. "He was killed when I was about twenty, the same year your parents got married. So that would have made him eighteen or nineteen."

There was a brief silence. "Were-were your parents Death Eaters as well?" Harry asked carefully.

"No, but they thought Voldemort had the right idea. They were all for the purification of the wizarding race. Hard to believe I came from them, really."

"I'm related to the Dursleys," Harry said.

I smiled wryly at that. "Yeah, I guess we can't all come from a normal family." I stood up and turned off the stove. "Your school list came yesterday," I added, spotting the envelope on the kitchen counter while I handed Harry his plate. "So we'll head to Diagon Alley next weekend and get your things."

"M'kay," said Harry through a mouthful of breakfast.

"I'm going to go check on Remus while you eat," I said.

Harry looked up at me. "You're not hungry?"

I shrugged. My appetite had become permanently suppressed after leaving Azkaban. "See you in a bit."

* * *

"How are the nightmares?"

My brows knitted together. "They're less vivid," I finally settled on.

Newman rested his chin in his hand and watched me for a long moment. "Anything else?"

I continued to fiddle with the odd assortment of objects Newman had lying around specifically for this purpose—apparently I wasn't his only patient with restless hands.

"I'm going to change directions here," he said, straightening up. "And I want you to try something new."

I looked up at him over my hands.

"I want you to make a new friend. Someone you didn't know from before the war."

"I do have new friends," I said slowly.

"The Weasley family?" he asked. "Yes, but they are inexplicably tied to your past through their involvement with your trial. You need to develop new relationships—"

"What's wrong with my old ones?" I interrupted.

"Nothing," he said. "But no one keeps just the one handful of friends—we make potential new acquaintances, new relationships every day. You're still stuck in your past. I think making a new friend—one who knows you only as you are, and not as you were—could help. You would not feel the need to put on a performance to try to act like your old self."

"I think I might scare them away."

"Then find someone who doesn't scare easily," challenged Newman. "Go to the pub together, get some lunch. Just create one new relationship, see what it does for you."

I set the object I had been playing with—some muggle device with a hundred different-colored surfaces—down on the table between us. "Do I have a time limit?"

"No," said Newman slowly. "But that's not to say I want you to put it off for the long term. Go to the pub, strike up a conversation with someone."

"And if no one wants to talk to a lunatic ex-convict?"

"Sirius."

"Okay, fine," I said, getting to my feet.

"Can I expect to see you next week?" Newman asked. He had long since gotten used to my sporadic and unpredictable visits.

I shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe. I'll tell you all about my new friend."

Newman ignored my sarcasm. "I'll look forward to hearing it."

* * *

The following week, Harry and I made our way through Diagon Alley amid the heavy crowds to purchase his new school things.

"So what are you low on?"

"Robes," replied Harry. "Mine are so short—it's like I'm wearing Hermione's. And I need the usual boring stuff—quills and parchment, ink. Then books for Transfiguration and Charms."

Harry and I had stopped by Florean Fortescue's for ice cream after leaving the bank. We were sitting in chairs just outside the shop, watching families bustle by, attempting to finish their children's school shopping in a single trip. As they passed, several of them shot curious looks our way—I had to suppose this was an improvement from the hostility and shock I would have received just years before.

"That's not so bad," I told him, taking a bite of ice cream. "We'll get out of here pretty quickly."

"Can we stop in the Quidditch shop?" Harry asked. "I want to see if they've got any oil for the Firebolt."

"What's wrong with the stuff you used on your Nimbus?" I asked.

Harry shrugged. "Nothing, I guess—it's just that there's a new line designed specifically for the Firebolt."

I didn't understand it. But then, Quidditch was always just a sport to me, and any hardcore dedication went over my head. Harry definitely inherited this from James.

The wild hair and long nose. Harry was skinnier than James had been at that age, but otherwise looked just like him. But when he spoke, it was Lily who came out. Harry, who had never known his parents, was so much like them.

"What? Something on my face?"

I snapped out of my reverie as Harry raised an eyebrow at me. "No, it's nothing," I said quickly. "Well, should we head over to Madam Malkin's, then?"

"S'pose so," said Harry, standing up. I followed suit and we walked down the crowded street together.

"Remember the first time you brought me here?" Harry asked. "And everyone looked like they'd seen a ghost."

I grinned at the memory. "I suppose we were an odd pair, weren't we? Boy-Who-Lived and his mass murdering godfather."

Harry snorted at that.

"What?"

"That's not the only reason people stared."

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

Harry shrugged, hesitating. "Well, how often do you read those articles about yourself?"

"Never."

Harry laughed at something I didn't understand. "Well, then you probably haven't heard about your fan club."

"My what?" I asked, stunned. Fan club? Fans of what?

"Well, at school, there's this…group. Of girls. They're all madly in love with you," said Harry, trying to suppress a grin at the dumbfounded look on my face. "And it's not just at school. You're in _Witch Weekly _practically every other week, with some stupid new bogus feature."

"But…that doesn't make sense," I said, frowning.

Harry laughed at that.

"_Why?" _I asked aloud, not comprehending. Why would I of all people have a fan club? For ten years people were convinced I was a Death Eater and a murderer, and they were happy to see me rot in Azkaban.

"Well, you know—it's because of Azkaban, and Pettigrew, and all that," said Harry by way of explanation. "I guess you're some sort of hero in the papers. They all want to know what you're doing. There're photos of you buying groceries, of all things, and people just eat it up."

I was stunned. I had no idea I was being followed so closely, let alone photographed doing something so absolutely boring as buying bread.

Harry chuckled at the look on my face. "Weird stuff, isn't it?"

"That's so stupid. What can they possibly print? 'Psycho killer eats ice cream in Diagon Alley'?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. It's just in there all the time. Hermione says it's all the girls at Hogwarts ever talk about."

"Great. An underage fan club. Right, let's get your new robes so we can get out of here."

We purchased the remainder of Harry's school things, narrowly avoiding an unpleasant interaction with my awful cousins, the Malfoys, in the bookstore. After one final stop at the Quidditch stop, we returned home, exhausted.

I laid face-down on the couch, slowly working my shoes off with my toes. I heard Harry drop all his school things on his bedroom floor upstairs before heading to the kitchen. I don't think the Dursleys fed Harry much, so I was happy to let him eat an enormous sandwich or several bowls of cereal just before dinner.

I sat up straight, giving a long look to the large stack of boxes that had been sitting in the corner of the sitting room for the better part of the year. After being released from Azkaban, people who had ended up with my possessions one way or the other were gradually returning them. Most were random objects I had lent out before being arrested, and they still sat in their boxes in the corner, strange reminders of my old life.

The most recent package was a box full of old photographs Andromeda had sent me. I hadn't had the guts to go through them all when it first arrived, but Harry wanted to see what was in the boxes.

I stood up and picked up the unwrapped box, settling myself back down lazily before opening it. Harry walked into the room, a half-eaten sandwich in hand.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Old photos. Want to see?"

Harry sat on the couch next to me, propping his feet up on the edge of the coffee table just as I had done. "Woah, that's you?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, examining the first photo of the bunch. I was probably twelve or thirteen here, and Regulus and I had taken turns shoving each other into the lake at one of the summer homes. "This one's from some stupid benefit ball—I can't remember which—but I'm the one here," I said, pointing. "My parents used to make us attend all these boring society events when we were kids. This one's from when we were at Hogwarts," I continued, shuffling to the next picture. "That's your dad, me, and that there's Remus and Peter. I think this was from fourth year by the looks of it."

"Blimey! You all look so young! Especially Remus."

I smirked at that. "Oh, and here's a picture of my cousin Andromeda's wedding—she's the one who sent me all these. She married a muggle, so she was disowned by the family as well. She has a daughter, Nymphadora." I squinted at the picture. "Yeah, hardly anyone from the Black family is here—it must all be Ted's family."

Harry picked up a stack of photos from the box and skimmed through them. "This is wild. It's weird seeing you in dress robes."

"I never was a respectable heir," I said, shrugging as Harry continued to flip through photographs.

"That's him!" said Harry suddenly, pointing at a slight figure in one of the photographs. "That's the man I saw at the World Cup!"

I took the photo from Harry.

"Right there," he said, pointing at a familiar face. "Blimey, he looks just like you."

"That's my brother," I said after a minute.

"Huh? No, that can't be," said Harry, looking more closely at the photograph. "I'm sure it was him," he said slowly, frowning. "I recognize that face."

I flipped the photograph over to read the date scrawled on the back. "This is probably the last picture of him. He died a few months after this was taken," I said, flipping it back over.

Harry was frowning, eyebrows knit together. "That doesn't make any sense. I'm sure it was him. I mean, how many people are there that look like your brother and happen to know the spell for the Dark Mark?"

"I thought you said it wasn't him who sent up the Mark."

Harry shrugged. "I dunno who did it, but it kind of fits, doesn't it?"

I stuffed all the photographs away, an unpleasant possibility creeping into the back of my mind.

Harry hesitated before speaking, looking at me nervously. "I mean, are you sure he's dead? You said a lot of people just went missing during the war."

"It's the only thing I've heard," I allowed slowly, placing the lid back on the box.

I had the feeling Harry wanted to press for more, but he kept his mouth shut. "Right. Well, I'm going to finish my homework. Come get me when dinner's ready?"

My head felt fuzzy.

"Yeah. Sure."

* * *

Once I Harry had been seen off to school, I set for my parents' old house straight away. I hadn't stepped foot here other than the one unfortunate trip Remus and I took shortly after regaining my freedom, and I had been hoping to never do so again. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I had a nagging sense that I ought to start here.

I hesitated on the doorstep, preparing myself for whatever lay inside. My grip tightened around my wand, and I readied half a dozen spells in the forefront of my mind for whatever lay on the other side of the door.

It opened silently, barely scraping the dust on the filthy floor as it moved. Cobwebs hung from the chandelier overhead, and the oil lamps were completely obscured by filth. I shut the door quickly behind myself, wand held high. There were human footprints in the dust, and they looked recent.

"_Lumos Totalus," _I whispered to the darkness. The lamps instantly burst into life, illuminating the dusty corridors of the main floor. I saw what looked like several saucer-sized spiders retreat into curtains and underneath covered furniture. I flexed my fingers around the handle of my wand before stepping further into the house.

The tea parlor, drawing room, and day room were all empty save for the loud hum of doxy nests. I headed back for the front entryway, ready to check the other side of the house. The library had no signs of life, and neither did the breakfast room or the formal dining room.

The first floor was clear; that only left the basement kitchen and the two upper floors.

I took a steadying breath as I ascended the main staircase, careful to step around the creaky spots I remembered from my childhood. Reaching the dim second floor landing, I hid myself in a corner between the washroom and a linen closet. As children, Regulus and I used to chase each other around the house and I knew this to be a strategic blind spot from the main stairwell and the entire second floor. I aimed my wand for the main chandelier.

"_Protego!" _I whispered.

The glass shattered and rained to the floor with a loud crash. I flinched at the sudden noise, but waited carefully for any sounds of movement in the house. I was sure there were footsteps upstairs, right where my old bedroom was. But it also sounded like there was movement down the hall, toward my right. I silently cursed my damaged hearing on that side, and slid silently down that hallway.

The lamps were broken down here, and heavy shadows obscured most of the way. But I saw a black shape move in the darkness, and reacted instantly.

"_Expelliarmus!" _I shouted. The jet of red light briefly illuminated the corridor, and I saw the distinct shape of a human arm.

Someone was there.

"_Confrigo!" _I shouted, aiming for the darkest shadows. I heard a heavy object hit the floor. "_Lumos maximus!"_

My wand tip ignited a bright white glow, filling the corridor with light. At the end of the hallway, just where my beam of light faded, I could see a man hastily scrambling to his feet.

"_Accio wand!" _

The intruder's wand flew toward me, and I pocketed his wand quickly. Holding my own in front of me defensively, I demanded, "Who are you?"

The man, dark-haired and close to my own age, looked up at me from the floor.

"Only a Black can enter this house," he replied calmly.

My grip tightened. "This is my house and you've broken in. Tell me who you are before I curse you."

He chuckled at that. "Don't you recognize me? Or perhaps you should have kept this old beauty in better condition so the lights worked."

Incensed, I shot an incendiary spell just over his head. Where the broken lamps used to be were now balls of bright blue fire. The hallway was completely illuminated, revealing the identity of the man at my feet.

"What are you doing here?" I said coldly, maintaining my nerve.

"Waiting for you, of course," he replied, slowly getting to his feet. His eyes were on me the whole time. "I believe we have a lot of catching-up to do."

My eyes narrowed and my fingers tightened their grip around my wand. I could feel my heart beating furiously against my chest. "My brother's dead. Tell me how you got in here."

The man raised his eyebrows at me. "Dead? You don't recognize me?"

"I don't believe you," I snapped back.

Regulus gave me a wry smile, holding his hands up. "How about an Unbreakable Vow, big brother? Will you believe it's me then?"


	7. RAB

Chapter seven:

I was sure it had to be a trick. Regulus had been dead for fifteen years.

But only a Black could have entered the house, and I was the last of my family line.

Just then I heard footsteps behind me. Careful to keep my wand trained on the imposter, I moved so my back was against the wall and turned to see an unpleasantly familiar face.

"Kreacher?" I said, stunned. "What the hell are you doing? You're just letting people break into this house?"

Kreacher gave me a sour look. I couldn't believe he was still alive. "Nasty ungrateful brat's come back, he has. Hasn't changed a bit, attacking Master Regulus like before. Oh, my poor Mistress—"

I turned back to look at the intruder. He had crossed his arms and gave me a patient but expectant look.

"You're insane, the lot of you," I said. "Kreacher, you useless idiot, call the Ministry. _Now. _That's an order!"

Kreacher gave me a baleful look.

"Kreacher, don't mind Sirius," said the intruder calmly.

Kreacher's eyes went to Regulus before narrowing onto me. "Nasty ungrateful swine, Kreacher would like to stop him from hurting Master Regulus—"

"For fuck's sake, Kreacher, just get out of here!" I snapped, furious. No doubt ten years of complete isolation has driven the house elf mad.

"Kreacher, leave us," said the man sternly.

"As master wishes," said Kreacher, giving Regulus an obedient bow before shooting me another poisonous look and disappearing down the stairs.

"If I may suggest we move somewhere more comfortable before you set the house on fire," said the man pretending to be my dead brother. "Maybe we can discuss this issue more calmly. Perhaps over tea?"

I stared at him. The features were familiar—the blue eyes and long nose—but Dark Magic could do that.

"I can prove it's me, Sirius," he said calmly. "Your choice. Would Veritaserum suffice, or would you prefer to rely on my word as sealed by a Vow?"

"You died fifteen years ago," I said accusingly, wand still held high.

"So I hear," he replied coolly. "And you were the Dark Lord's highest supporter."

My eyes narrowed at that. This was madness. Someone had disguised themselves as Regulus and broken in somehow, but there was an awful nagging feeling in my chest.

A nagging feeling that told me that this was indeed Regulus.

"We're not discussing this here," I said finally. "Not in this shit hole house."

Regulus raised his eyebrows. "And where do you propose we go?"

"Give me your arm—"

"Certainly, _dear brother_," he said icily, taking a hesitant step back. "As soon as you tell me where. I would rather like to maintain my status as a dead man."

I moved forward to take hold of him. "My house."

The disapparition was surprisingly easy—perhaps Regulus was too stunned to try to resist, or maybe he didn't want to risk getting splinched.

I shoved him back onto my couch roughly, wand still trained high.

"I see your manners haven't improved much," Regulus said scornfully, straightening up but otherwise not moving. I watched him quickly take in his surroundings. I swallowed a lump in my throat.

"How are you still alive?" I demanded.

"Seriously, can we discuss this more civilly?" he asked, irritated. "There's no need for you to have your wand in my face."

"You're supposed to be dead, and the last thing I heard was that you had joined Voldemort's inner circle," I said coldly. "So forgive me if I'm not ready to drop my wand and prepare tea for a Death Eater."

"_Ex_ Death Eater," he clarified. "You tend to lose the title when you betray the Dark Lord."

I felt my eyes narrow.

Regulus gave an exasperated sigh. "Obviously I had to fake my death—he would have gone after me and the whole family—what was left of it. And I'm not stupid enough to rejoin the world after the Dark Lord's fall."

"What do you mean when you say you betrayed Voldemort?" I demanded.

"This is a long story—are you sure you don't want to sit?"

"Regulus—"

"All right, _fine._" He shot me a dark look, then said, "You might not think much of it, but I was never as soft-minded as you thought." He paused, sighing, then added, "I did join the Death Eaters. I thought they had a generally good idea, even if I didn't agree with how they went about business. And Mother and Father were really pushing for it-not that you'd care, but there was quite a bit of pressure to openly support the Dark Lord among the pureblood families. It was a mark of disrespect to hide it. And then there was the fact that I was the only heir to our family's name. Well…" he said, trailing off in thought for a moment.

"So I joined before leaving Hogwarts," he continued bitterly. "I'll bet you never knew that part—that while we were still in school, when you were still ignoring me in the corridors, I was working for the Dark Lord. But despite any similar sympathies, I was never a killer. At the time, I wanted to separate the muggles and mudbloods from the wizarding race, not exterminate them.

"Well, you don't exactly hand in your resignation to the Dark Lord. You might despise me for entering his 'inner circle,' as you kindly put it, but that level of information had its advantages." He hesitated here, frowning. "It was then that I learned the Dark Lord's darkest secret: his attempt at immortality.

"Believing I faced certain death, I went after the horcrux with the intention of destroying it. I was determined that when the Dark Lord met his equal, he would be mortal once more."

I stared at Regulus for a long moment. I could feel my wand arm slipping a few inches. "But Voldemort didn't die," I said slowly.

"No, he did not," said Regulus with disgust. "Never did it cross my mind to imagine that the Dark Lord would make more than one horcrux."

"What is that, exactly?" I asked in spite of myself.

"Dark magic," said Regulus simply. "It involves the concealment of part of one's soul in an object. If the body is destroyed, the soul—the essence of one's self—lives on. In order to create one, the witch or wizard must take a life. It is the only way to split the soul."

There was a long silence. A million thoughts were racing through my head. I couldn't get over the fact that Regulus was not only still alive, but sitting right in front of me. "Why did you show yourself?" I finally asked. "Harry said he saw you at the World Cup, and here you are in our family's old house. If you managed to fake your death, why not just stay dead?" I said that last part bitterly.

"I've been looking for the other horcrux," said Regulus. "I've heard all the rumors—that Voldemort is going to attempt to regain strength and go after Potter. None of us stand a chance if the Dark Lord cannot die."

I let my arm drop to my side. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

"Lovely. Shall I start the tea, then?"

It was lucky I had an unlimited supply of butterbeer, because we burned through several cases while Regulus explained how he had discovered Voldemort's secret, where he had gone to steal it, and how he had to go into hiding thereafter.

"I truly believed I would die any day," Regulus said. We were both sitting on opposite couches in my living room. I had a half-filled ashtray in front of me, and Regulus was nursing a glass of firewhiskey.

"Why didn't you come to me?" I implored, frowning. "We could have protected you—"

"The Order hardly needed a Death Eater that couldn't be trusted by the Dark Lord to carry out his orders—I would have merely been in the way. I decided that if I was going to die, then I would be quite sure it was useful. I made Kreacher take me to the cave, and instructed him to force me to drink the poisoned water, and gave him the locket—the horcrux—with instructions to get out of there and destroy it."

"So how did you get out?"

Regulus frowned, a far-off look on his face. "I'm not really sure. The lake was filled with Dark Magic—the dead were cursed and climbing out of the lake, trying to pull me down. I really believed that that's how it would end. I just remember a lot of fire—I guess in some manner I was controlling it, though I cannot tell you how. I wasn't myself when I managed to get out of there—several months passed before I was really aware of anything. I had hidden myself away in Norway." He took a deep breath and sighed. "News took months to reach me where I was hiding at the time. When I found out the Potters had been killed and you were in Azkaban, it was nearly a year later."

There was a pregnant pause while Regulus gave me an expectant look. "So what happened? I've seen your name all over the papers, but I'd like your version."

I shrugged uncomfortably. I could feel my face closing off. "Peter was the spy—did you know?" I asked bitterly, wondering if my brother had known all along.

The one thing right in front of me that I couldn't see.

Regulus shook his head slowly, giving me a sympathetic look. "No. The Dark Lord was careful with his spies from the other side—half the Death Eaters never knew who the others were. And there were many more nameless faces who did his bidding, but never took the Mark."

"Well, Peter sold them to Voldemort. When I went after him, he blew apart the street and killed everyone within twenty feet of himself. I got blamed for it, and spent ten years in Azkaban."

Regulus let out his breath slowly. "Did you have a trial?"

"No. Well, ten years later, yeah. And only because Peter turned up again."

"Well," said Regulus, looking around the house. His eyes fell on the various pictures of Harry on the mantle. "You seem to be doing all right for yourself, in spite of it all."

I didn't know how to reply to that. I supposed to an outsider's eye I had made sufficient progress from crazed mass murderer to tax-paying citizen, but it hardly felt like an achievement to me. Even now, I felt like the world had gone on without me and I was stuck the way I was before.

Before. After.

A huge chunk of my life was missing and I was still trying to stay on my feet.

"Do you have any information on Voldemort?" I asked sharply, changing the subject.

Regulus's gaze turned back to me. If he was annoyed by my abrupt tone, he didn't show it. "Very little, and they're only rumors. There's an old estate that belonged to the Riddle family here in England. The word is that the groundskeeper was found dead, but the muggles can't deduce why. People in the area reported seeing a man carrying what looks like a baby."

I raised my eyebrows at that. "How does that tie back into Voldemort?"

"Well, you know the old Riddle family were all murdered," said Regulus. "The Dark Lord's unfortunate muggle father and his family. The groundskeeper maintains the property, but someone broke into the main estate and killed the man without so much as a trace. Now, I don't know for sure, but my bet is that the Dark Lord's been hiding out there."

"He's back in England?"

"Looks like it," said Regulus, taking a long sip of his drink. "And I'll have you know that's the only reason I came back—I was perfectly content to stay dead, but I'm the only one who knows about the other horcrux. By the sound of it, the Dark Lord is getting stronger."

I frowned at that. This was an incredible amount of information to be taking in, and I had no way of knowing for sure if Regulus was telling me the truth. As kids, Regulus had always been adept at deceiving our extended relatives and even our parents. He could smooth-talk his way out of nearly every situation in school. He had always been the golden child in our youth, and had advanced to Voldemort's inner circle before he supposedly died at nineteen.

And yet he was my brother. The same idiot who used to follow me around the house when I was avoiding the boring luncheons and dinner parties, the same little boy who once confessed he looked up to me.

Regulus and I may have taken completely different directions, but perhaps we weren't so different. Maybe there was something stronger than the last name that held us together.

That, or I just wanted to believe it hadn't been too late to save Regulus from the Death Eaters.

"Why were you in our old house?" I asked. "Is that seriously where you've been hiding?"

Regulus snorted. "Of course not. I needed to check to be sure whether or not Kreacher had destroyed the locket. That was my first thought, before I realized there was more than one horcrux."

"Did he?" I asked, unsure of the demented elf's ability.

Regulus reached inside his vest pocket and withdrew a gaudy, jewel-covered locket. My eyes fell on the huge, blackened crack that ran down the middle.

"I replaced it with a fake one, should the Dark Lord ever decide to take a look in his cave."

"And you're sure there's another one?"

Regulus pocketed the locket. "The Dark Lord should have died the night he went after the Potters, but was merely reduced to a spirit form. There's no other explanation."

I lit a new cigarette and took a few long drags off it. "Was that you at the World Cup? Harry was sure he saw someone who looked remarkably like myself."

Regulus shrugged. "I wanted to see what the old Death Eaters were up to. It was I who cast the Dark Mark, of course—"

I felt my eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

"Those idiots are terrified the Dark Lord might return—nothing else would distract them from their little game with the muggles. Disgusting," he added bitterly.

"It wasn't so long ago that you would have been among them," I said harshly.

Regulus gave me a long look. "Do you really think so little of me, brother?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten all those times you and Rookwood used to torment the muggle children at the summer home."

"I was a child then, I had no reason to know any better—"

"I wasn't much older, and I had managed to figure that one out for myself."

Regulus turned away from me, shaking his head. "Yes, well, you were always two steps ahead of me." His voice was defiant, but there was a somber look on his face.

I thought about our time as kids, when I had started Hogwarts and the divide between myself and Regulus had become apparent. It only got worse from there, but I wondered what was the difference between him and myself in those days? Had I not done enough to shield Regulus from our parents? No doubt they were stricter with him when I began to rebel. I had been too preoccupied defying them and making my own way to think about Regulus.

Perhaps it was my fault he had grown up the way he did. There was no one to protect him.

"If you're satisfied, I'd like my wand back and to be on my way," said Regulus, standing up.

"No way," I said sharply.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm supposed to just let you walk out of here and never see you again? After you just told me about a second horcrux and Voldemort coming back to England?"

Regulus raised a dark eyebrow. It was unnerving how much he looked like me. "Well, you can satisfy yourself with the knowledge that I'm going to find the other horcrux and destroy it."

"Not by yourself, you aren't—"

"And what, do you propose to come with me?"

I hesitated for a split second. "No, but Dumbledore—"

"Is going to stay out of this," said Regulus sharply. "No one is to know that I'm still alive, you understand me? _No one. _It's difficult enough going through the Dark Lord's most private secrets as it is, and I certainly don't need an old man or your precious Order following after me and catching attention."

"And how are you going to find this other horcrux all by yourself?"

"I found the first one, didn't I?"

"But you were close to Voldemort at the time—you don't have that advantage now."

"So are you proposing to hold me prisoner?" said Regulus haughtily. He folded his arms and gave me a withering look.

"Yeah, if that's what it takes—"

"Then you'd better be prepared to curse me," he said coldly. "I played nice with you because you're my brother, but I'm not about to be held up by anyone."

We stared at each other with strong dislike for a long moment. I wasn't sure how good of a dueler Regulus was these days, and I wasn't prepared to risk blowing him up to find out.

"You have to keep contact with me," I said, finally. "I want to know what's going on at all times."

Regulus rolled his eyes.

"And you want to know how I know you're going to do it?" I continued. "Because if you don't, then you can bet I'll go straight to Dumbledore with the news that you're still alive."

Regulus's eyes narrowed. "You'd risk ruining everything just to keep tabs on me?"

I wasn't sure if I was bluffing or not. "You can't do this alone," I said sternly, getting to my own feet. I withdrew Regulus's wand and handed it back to him.

Regulus gave me a long, calculating look. "Sometimes I wonder if maybe you didn't have a little Slytherin in you," he finally said. "I'll be at the family home for the next few days."

"That shit hole?" I asked, eyebrows raised. "Why not just stay here?"

Regulus gave me a look. "And intrude on your new life? I think not."

"There's nothing to intrude on," I said honestly. "Besides, you need someone who can move around outside—if you're supposed to be dead, you can't very well ask questions."

Regulus gave a long sigh. "Only while absolutely necessary. Once there's news about the other horcrux's location, I will leave immediately."

"Fine."

"Fine."

I prepared the spare bedroom for Regulus, fishing spare towels and bedding out of the hall linen closet. Regulus was downstairs examining the objects in my house, particularly the muggle items.

"What is this?" he asked when I came looking for him. He was standing in the laundry, examining the dryer.

"It dries laundry."

Regulus opened and then shut the door. "How so?"

"Well, you toss a load inside, push a button, and wait an hour."

Regulus turned to me with a raised eyebrow. "An _hour_? A spell would be faster—"

"Reg, stop insulting my house," I snapped. "What do you want for dinner?"

"I don't understand why you like these muggle things," he said as we headed back to the kitchen. "They're so…"

"Inferior?"

"I was going to go with cumbersome," Regulus said coolly.

I bit back my tongue. It was instinct to snap at Regulus, and I would have to keep myself in check if I didn't want him to disappear again.

I couldn't bring myself to apologize, so instead I began opening cabinets in my kitchen. "What do you feel like eating?"

"I believe the real question is what do you feel like preparing?" he countered, running a hand along the surface of my kitchen table before taking a seat.

I opened my ice box, frowning. "Er, all the meat is still frozen."

"I take it you do not employ a house-elf?" Regulus asked cautiously.

"No."

"Hmm."

"What, should I bring Kreacher over? He'd poison the food."

"Not my share."

I rolled my eyes. I pulled out a block of chicken from the butcher's and set it in the sink under running water. I took a seat at the table across from Regulus while I waited for it to thaw.

"Tell me more about this Secret Keeper business," Regulus said after a minute.

"What do you mean?" I asked flatly. I had no interest in discussing the worst decision of my life.

"So Potter chose you as the Secret Keeper, right? I'm not going to bother to inquire after why he didn't select Dumbledore, I don't care about that. But why did you switch with Pettigrew?"

I gave him a long look. My thoughts turned to my trial, and how this question in particular had been used by Ms. Novak over and over to prepare me for my inquisition.

"I was the obvious choice. Everyone knew it would be me. Voldemort would find me eventually, and I had no idea if I would be able to hold up under the Imperius Curse forever. So I told James he had to switch to Peter at the last minute, but we would tell everyone it was me."

Regulus stared at me incredulously. "You were going to die," he said slowly.

I raised an eyebrow challengingly, but didn't reply.

"You _knew _the Dark Lord would come after you," he continued, eyes narrowed. "And all you could think about was protecting your friends. Merlin, not even that—you set it up so that the Dark Lord would come after you directly. When you switched Secret-Keepers, you put a giant target on your back."

"I suppose you think that's pretty stupid," I finally allowed, crossing my arms.

Regulus shook his head. Finally he turned to me and gave an exasperated sigh. "Sometimes it's hard to draw the line between stupidity and bravery. If we're talking about self-preservation, then yes, that was monumentally stupid."

I rolled my eyes.

"But some things are more important than that."

I was beginning to feel uncomfortable under Regulus's stare. "Yes, well, too bad it didn't work."

Regulus's face softened at that. "So now you're raising the Potter boy," he stated, changing the subject a little.

I nodded silently. I really didn't want to go into all the details, but Regulus was watching me expectantly.

"Well? Aren't you going to tell me near a hundred stories about him before we eat? Is that not what parents do these days?"

My eyebrows knit together. "I'm not really a parent," I said slowly.

"Parental figure. Same thing."

"Is it?"

"It's as good as."

I sighed. "Harry's a good kid. He's kind, and loyal to his friends. He reminds me so much of James, sometimes. But I suppose he inherited more of Lily's sensibility."

"And he's the Chosen One."

I got up from the table.

"Don't be angry, Sirius," said Regulus from behind me.

"He's more than just some _pawn _in a twisted prophecy," I snapped back. "He's a human being. He has wants and needs, just like everybody else. He's not some lump of meat to be molded into Voldemort's downfall."

"Look," said Regulus sharply. "No one is denying Potter is only a child. But the moment the Dark Lord went after him is the moment Potter became his only real equal. The Dark Lord is never going to stop hunting him. Potter's entire family was doomed, and there was absolutely nothing you could have done to protect them! So stop feeling so guilty about it."

I pulled the chicken out of the sink and stabbed it with a filleting knife. "How do you know how I feel?" I muttered childishly.

"It doesn't take a genius to figure it out—you were set on sacrificing yourself to the death and the whole thing backfires. The Potters die and you survive. It wasn't ten years in Azkaban that made you believe it was your fault."

"You don't know anything." My heart was beating furiously against my chest. My hands shook as I carved the chicken roughly—it was a miracle I didn't saw one of my fingers off.

I felt dizzy. Spots were dancing in front of my eyes, and I couldn't get the mental image of James and Lily lying dead in their destroyed house out of my head.

"Where are you going?"

Before I was really aware of it, I had pushed through the back kitchen door and onto the porch. I stumbled down the few steps onto the lawn, the heels of my hands pressed firmly against my temples. I couldn't see. Somewhere in the distance I thought I heard Regulus's voice, but he was dead.

They were all dead.

It was all my fault. I couldn't protect my brother, and I couldn't protect James's family. They had all died because of me. Soon, Harry might be dead, too.

Red hair fanned out across the floor like a pool of blood. Black-rimmed glasses crunched under my feet. Dust was still falling like snow from the broken ceiling.

Rough hands seized me, and suddenly a new face was in front of me. My own face.

"Snap out of it!"

Suddenly my arm began to burn. The house disappeared, leaving dark trees and an open field behind. I rubbed my arm gingerly, looking for the source of the pain.

There was no burn. Just Regulus standing in front of me with a white face and his wand out.

"What the _bloody hell _was that?" he demanded, looking stricken. Instead of waiting for an answer he dragged me inside.

My house.

Not Godric's Hollow. That house was long gone.

"Drink."

I looked at the glass in front of me. It looked like whiskey. Somehow I had gotten inside my kitchen, and we were sitting at my table. I downed the glass in one fell swoop, the burning in my throat bringing me back to reality.

I set the glass back down slowly, numbly processing what had just happened. No one had seen me lose my grip in three years, and now Regulus was hovering over me, white as a ghost.

"You good?" he asked after a long minute of silence.

I laughed humorlessly at that. It was a knee-jerk reaction. Nothing was funny about what just happened.

Regulus poured me another glass, and then a larger one for himself, before sitting down across from me. "Sorry," he finally said. "I didn't intend to—well, that is to say I didn't know how bad it was. For you."

I gave him a long look. There was no way to explain away what he had just seen. It was too late to feel embarrassed. "I see a shrink once in a while," I said without any idea why.

"A what?"

"Mind Healer," I clarified.

Regulus sat back in his chair, frowning.

"Sometimes I think I've lost my mind," I said, swirling the contents of my glass.

"You haven't."

"Still think I'm doing all right for myself?" I asked bitterly, not expecting an answer. I stood up to finish preparing dinner.

I could hear Regulus following me. "I think you're a complete bloody idiot, but I don't think you're crazy," he said bluntly.

I laughed at that, genuinely this time. It slipped out before I was really aware of it. Regulus raised an eyebrow at me, but his face broke into a small smile. "You're the first person that's ever said that," I told him, shaking my head. "Everyone else thinks I'm too delicate or some rubbish, so they don't say anything."

"Bollocks," said Regulus. "You're too big an arsehole to be delicate."

I smiled to myself in spite of that. "Make yourself useful and find some vegetables to chop."

* * *

A/N: Yes, I know in canon that the locket hadn't actually been destroyed by Kreacher, but bear with me. There will also be no Triwizard Tournament in this story; there's just no place to write it in without being all over the place, plot-wise . If you're feeling generous, please leave a review with your thoughts.


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